But if the gods do not exist at all - then we are lost,' I said. On the contrary - we are found!' said Aesop. But when we are afraid, who can we turn to, if not the gods?' Ourselves. We turn to ourselves anyway. We only pretend there are gods and that they care about us. It is a comforting falsehood.

It's hard to do fiction and nonfiction simultaneously.

what storyteller is adequate to her story? The story carries us along, bottles on the tide, each with our secret mesage and the fervent hope that it does not turn out to be blank.

Men and women, women and men. It will never work.

There's another part of getting older that's just wonderful. Which is you see the way the stories turn out with peoples' lives.

It's easier to write about pain than about joy. Joy is wordless.

In any triangle, who is the betrayer, who the unseen rival, and who the humiliated lover? Oneself, oneself, and no one but oneself!