Mediocre prose might be read as an escape, might be spoken on television by actors, or mouthed in movies. But mediocre poetry did not exist at all. If poetry wasn't good, it wasn't poetry. It was that simple.

Throughout much of history, women writers have capitulated to male standards, and have paid too much heed to what Virginia Woolf calls "the angel in the house." She is that little ghost who sits on one's shoulder while one writes and whispers, "Be nice, don't say anything that will embarrass the family, don't say anything your man will disapprove of ..." [ellipsis in original] The "angel in the house" castrates one's creativity because it deprives one of essential honesty, and many women writers have yet to win the freedom to be honest with themselves.

It takes courage to lead a life. Any life.

She was mine and not-mine all at once. She was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen and the most terrifying.

The worst thing about jealousy is how low it makes you reach.

My generation of young female writers discovered that we could dictate the form and content of our own fiction.

Because I loved myself, I was loved.