Life is beautiful because it doesn't last.

For some reason, I have a very strange conception of time. I am constantly hovering at some overview, more macro.

If you came from the future and you arrived here, what would you be like? Would your immune system be depressed from that travel? Would you be well? Would you be ill? Would you be affected by micro-organisms of the time period and be hiding out in a basement? How would it all work, practically?

Nothing seemed as scary as waking up at 40 and realizing that I had not lived a very courageous life.

I get uncomfortable when people give me presents and watch me open them. I don't have birthday parties, because the idea of a group of people singing and looking at me while I'm blowing out candles gives me hives.

So writing became a way to get to act in things that I thought were meaningful, and hopefully write stronger roles for other women.

When I go into a pitch room and I'm pitching something with a writing partner, everybody tends to look at the guy, even if I'm doing a lot of the talking.