This life is but the childhood of our immortality.

We can’t always tell the whole story about ourselves.

I make the road. I draw the map. Nothing just happens to me...I'm the one happening.

The traveling salesmen fed me pills that made the lining of my veins feel scraped out, my jaw ached... I knew every raindrop by its name, I sensed everything before it happened. Like I knew a certain oldsmobile would stop even before it slowed, and by the sweet voices of the family inside, I knew we'd have an accident in the rain. I didn't care. They said they'd take me all the way.

There was a part of her she hadn’t yet allowed to be born because it was too beautiful for this place

I really enjoy writing novels. Its like the ocean. You can just build a boat and take off.

That world! These days it's all been erased and they've rolled it up like a scroll and put it away somewhere. Yes, I can touch it with my fingers. But where is it?