Memory is the fourth dimension to any landscape.

I use my fiction to explore my own unconscious issues. I usually don't even know what's going on with me until I'm writing.

I took the volume to a table, opened its soft, ivory pages... and fell into it as into a pool during dry season.

The phoenix must burn to emerge.

I felt suddenly cruel, like I´d told dmall children there was no tooth fairy, that it was just their Mom sneaking into their room after they went to bed.

...I was tired of men. Hanging in doorways, standing too close, their smell of beer or fifteen-year-old whiskey. Men who didn't come to the emergency room with you, men who left on Christmas Eve. Men who slammed the security gates, who made you love them and then changed their minds.

I decided that if I was never going to sell anything as long as I lived, I might as well do what I want to do 'cause then at least I would've done what I wanted to do in life. What's that worth?