I felt an unrelenting restlessness. It was the first time I had ever experienced jealousy, and that emotion clung to my skin day and night like a dark stain, a contamination I could not shed; it became so unbearable that when finally I rid myself of it, I was freed forever of the desire to possess another person or the temptation ever to belong to anyone.

If I didn't write my soul would dry up and die.

Twittering and blogging and all that is fine, but there is no idea of how to phrase something beautifully; how to use language to create an emotion. It's just passing information and sometimes very superficial information.

There is no death, daughter. People die only when we forget them,' my mother explained shortly before she left me. 'If you can remember me, I will be with you always.

Having a point to start is important. You know that when you decide to write something it's like a commitment. It's like falling in love.

Nice people with common sense do not make interesting characters. They only make good former spouses.

Fear is inevitable, I have to accept that, but I cannot allow it to paralyze me.