Bang bang bang. I understand now why so many horror movies use that device-the mysterious knock on the door-because it has the weight of a nightmare. You don't know what's out there, yet you know you'll open it. You'll think what I think: No one bad ever knocks.

My imagination is more tweaked by imagining the lives of the people who were there before us. I don't need to give myself the willies. I'm quite good at that - I can freak myself out wherever I am.

Sometimes if you let people do things to you, you're really doing it to them.

There are a million talented writers who are unpublished only because they stop writing when it gets hard.

They always call depression the blues, but I would have been happy to waken to a periwinkle outlook. Depression to me is urine yellow, washed out, exhausted miles of weak piss.

What a generous thing that is, I realize, for a husband to try to make his wife laugh.

Everytime people said I was pretty, I thought of everything ugly swarming beneath my clothes.