It’s pretty thin, the wall separating healthy confidence and unhealthy Pride.

What would tomorrow bring? I wondered. Both hands on the wheel, I closed my eyes. I didn’t feel like I was in my own body; my body was just a lonely, temporary container I happened to be borrowing. What would become of me tomorrow I did not know.

The body is not the only target of rape. Violence does not always take a visible form, and not all wounds gush blood.

It doesn’t matter how old I get, but as long as I continue to live I’ll always discover something new about myself.

The unwaking world was as hushed as a deep forest.

Everything just blows me away.

A short story I have written long ago would barge into my house in the middle of the night, shake me awake and shout, 'Hey,this is no time for sleeping! You can't forget me, there's still more to write!' Impelled by that voice, I would find myself writing a novel. In this sense, too, my short stories and novels connect inside me in a very natural, organic way.