Here's to another year and let's hope it's above ground.

A woman's life isn't worth a plateful of cabbage if she hasn't felt life stir under her heart. Taking a little one to nurse, watching him grow to manhood, that's what love is.

The silence is perfect, and yet a torment.

Words are our life. We are human because we use language. So I think we are less human when we use less language.

Bookish people, who are often maladroit people, persist in thinking they can master any subtlety so long as it's been shaped into acceptable expository prose.

The recounting of a life is a cheat...even our own stories are obscenely distorted.

I don't think I would have been a writer if I hadn't been a mother. I wanted to construct something that contained some of these feelings that I had, some of these discoveries or revelations.