Murky language means someone wants to pick your pocket.

We are so scared of being judged that we look for every excuse to procrastinate.

I stand in the mist and cry, thinking of myself standing in the mist and crying, and wondering if I will ever be able to use this experience in a book.

Once I worshipped Keats for dying young. Now I think it's braver to die old.

When I met my husband, I refused to invite him home for Passover because I was embarrassed my mother might serve all the catered dishes in the wrong order.

I can live without it all - love with its blood pump, sex with its messy hungers, men with their peacock strutting, their silly sexual baggage, their wet tongues in my ear.

And what if I don't want forgiveness?