The world unwraps itself to you, again and again as soon as you are ready to see it anew.

When I write a book, I write very cleanly from page one to the last page. I hardly ever write out of sequence.

A male usually had made up his mind before you began to talk to him -so why bother?- but a female, because her mind was more supple, was always prepared to become more disappointed in you than she had yet suspected possible.

And a puzzle is for the piecing together, especially for the young, who still believe it can be done.

I may not know how to fly but I know how to read, and that's almost the same thing.

She dropped her shyness like a nightgown, and in the liquid glare of sunlight on old boards she held up her hands-as if, in the terror of the upcoming skirmish, she had at last understood that she was beautiful. In her own way.

She is no longer I, she is too long ago, she is only she.