Here's to another year and let's hope it's above ground.
The larger loneliness of our lives evolves from our unwillingness to spend ourselves, stir ourselves. We are always damping down our inner weather, permitting ourselves the comforts of postponement, of rehearsals
Write the book you want to read, the one you cannot find.
The recounting of a life is a cheat...even our own stories are obscenely distorted.
The silence is perfect, and yet a torment.
I couldn't have been a novelist without being a mother. It gives you a unique witness point of the growth of a personality. It was a kind of biological component for me that had to come first. My children gave this other window on the world.