Her butler opened it for her. His name was Boredom. She said, 'Boredom, fetch me a plaything.' He said 'Very good ma'am,' and putting on his white gloves so that fingerprints would not show he tapped at my heart and I thought he said his name was Love.

She said she’d often wondered why she wanted to do some things and not do other things at all. Well, it was obvious with some things, but for others, there was no reason there. She’d spent a long time puzzling it out, then she thought that what you’d done in a past life you didn’t need to do again, and what you had to do in the future, you wouldn’t be ready to do now.

She was a monster, but she was my monster.

Writers have to have a knack for listening. I need to be able to hear what is being said to me by the voices I create.

She was fragile, gentle, wide awake in a sleeping world.

Trust me, I'm telling you stories. ... I can change the story. I am the story.

Anything outside marriage seems like freedom and excitement.