I read about writers who have routines. They write at certain times of the day. I can't do that. I am always writing-but in my head.

It is sad that unless you are born a god, your life,from its very beginning, is a mystery to you.

I'm so used to being misunderstood.

I had been a girl of whom certain things were expected, none of them too bad: a career as a nurse, for example; a sense of duty to my parents; obedience to the law and worship of convention. But in one year of being away from home, that girl had gone out of existence.

I like melancholy. I like to pretend that I'm alone in the world and I'm just sort of abandoned.

At the time I was taught to read, it was an Eden-like time of my life. My mother adored me. Everyone adored me. So I associate reading with enormous pleasure.

I think in many ways the problem that my writing would have with an American reviewer is that Americans find difficulty very hard to take. They are inevitably looking for a happy ending.