I'm incredibly restless. I read a lot of poetry. I also find myself reading the first 20 pages of everything, looking for something. And you know what? I'm usually looking for the book I'm writing. And it's not out there!

If this was a sandalwood pyre she would have thrown herself in and this paper she'd become would have caught fire and she and him could sail away like two birds.

A womans mistakes are different from a girls

What can I say about life? Do I praise it for letting you live, or damn it for allowing the rest?

As an artist, you can never get what you want. What you do never approaches what you want it to be.

To know I was beautiful in his eyes made me beautiful.

Although she was giddy with exhaustion, sleep was a lover who refused to be touched.