Friends love misery... our misery is what endears us to our friends.

All natural disasters are comforting because they reaffirm our impotence, in which, otherwise, we might stop believing. At times it is strangely sedative to know the extent of your own powerlessness.

Pregnancy seemed like a tremendous abdication of control. Something growing inside you which would eventually usurp your life.

In a bad marriage, friends are the invisible glue. If we have enough friends, we may go on for years, intending to leave, talking about leaving -instead of actually getting up and leaving.

... what is great poetry, after all, but the continuation of the human voice after death?

Because I loved myself, I was loved.

Life has no plot. It is by far more interesting than anything you can say about it.