Writing mirrors the interior self. You know, any book is like the perfect blueprint of the psyche of the author.

A book's flaws make it less predictable.

this was the wonderful thing about strangers. they were big blank pieces of paper, you could draw watever you like on their impresionable surfaces

She laughed so easily when she was happy. But also when she was sad.

I'm always looking for something new and interesting to say. And it can't be something I'm directly experiencing.

How can I shed tears for a man I should never have allowed to touch me in any way?

She was sitting cross-legged on her bed in her white kimono, writing in a notebook with an ink pen she dipped in a bottle. 'Never let a man stay the night,' she told me. 'Dawn has a way of casting a pall on any night magic.' The night magic sounded lovely. Someday I would have lovers and write a poem after.