We read so that we can be moved by a new way of looking at things.

Isn't it funny.I'm enjoying my hatred so much more than i ever enjoyed love. Love is temperamental. Tiring. It makes demands. Love uses you, changes its mind. But hatred, now, that's something you can use. Sculpt. Wield. It's hard, or soft, however you need it. Love humiliates you, but Hatred cradles you.

Don't hoard the past. Don't cherish anything. Burn it. The artist is the phoenix who burns to emerge.

The story of her life. God gave you everything just to take it away. Just so you knew exactly what you were missing.

...The men eyed her with the automatic mix of curiosity, lust, and aesthetic judgment they always gave young women, subject to object, the way you'd stare at an animal. She pretended not to notice. To remind them she was a person was too much effort. Objects bore no guilt.

This was the life I was going to be living, everybody separated from everybody else, hanging on for a moment only to be washed away.

If I get ideas independently of the act of writing, they never really fit. So for me, there's no hanging out, waiting for inspiration.