literature is the last banquet between minds.
If the Holy Communion touched my teeth, I thought that was a mortal sin
... we have so many voices in us, how do we know which ones to obey?
Wherever there were horses or ponies the mushrooms always sprang up.
I knew I had done something awful. I had killed love, before I even knew the enormity of what love meant.
I did not sleep. I never do when I am over-happy, over-unhappy, or in bed with a strange man.