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.

What was the point of spending your life with someone you were always looking for ways to decieve?

At times it is strangely sedative to know the extent of your own powerlessness.

One writes not by will but by surrender.

When I sit down at my writing desk, time seems to vanish. I think it's a wonderful way to spend one's life.

Is there a phrase in the English language more fraught with menace than a tax audit?

I convinced myself that sadness and compromise were the ways of the world.