If what's inside your dreams wasn't already real inside you, you couldn't even dream it.

I do not like to write - I like to have written.

I once fell in love with a man only because we both belonged to that large and secret club of children who had "crazy mothers." We traded stories of the shameless houses to which we could never invite our friends.

I wouldn't want to generalize, but we still do live in a society that's sexist and racist and addicted to class and has the ridiculous idea that if you have money you're smarter, which Donald Trump by himself should be able to disprove.

For women... bras, panties, bathing suits, and other stereotypical gear are visual reminders of a commercial, idealized feminine image that our real and diverse female bodies can't possibly fit. Without these visual references, each individual woman's body demands to be accepted on its own terms. We stop being comparatives. We begin to be unique.

When you say something in a wrong group - it will never be right, so you can not say anything wrong, when you don't belong to a group.

Paradoxically, only journeying backward in time and reentering the home we once knew allows us to go forward to the home we've always wanted.