I didn't know about the rest of the class, but when Bastille Day eventually rolled around, I planned to stay home and clean my oven.

There are lots of things that happen to me that I don't write about.

I started writing one afternoon when I was twenty, and ever since then I have written every day. At first I had to force myself. Then it became part of my identity, and I did it without thinking.

The fake slap invariably makes contact, adding the elements of shock and betrayal to what had previously been plain old-fashioned fear.

I've never gone on Facebook and am not sure I understand it. The same goes for Twitter. I have someone sending tweets and pretending to be me, but I don't know why.

I spend so much time like living in the past or the future. I mean, I think most people do, really. And the moments when you're really present in your life can be pretty rare, really.

whenever I read a passage that moves me, I transcribe it in my diary, hoping my fingers might learn what excellence feels like.