When pieces of work speak to us in a way that feels as if they were made just for us, those become our private worlds that we return to.

I was happy but happy is an adult word. You don't have to ask a child about happy, you see it. They are or they are not. Adults talk about being happy because largely they are not. Talking about it is the same as trying to catch the wind. Much easier to let it blow all over you.

This hole in my heart is in the shape of you. No one else can fit it. Why would I want them to?

Some people are happy when they are at the sea; I'm happy when I'm standing in front of a shelf of books. It feels like the known place and also the beginning of a new adventure. It has that simultaneous paradoxical effect of making me feel absolutely calm and very excited.

I think of myself in a continuum as a woman. Two hundred years ago, it would have been very difficult for me to write at all.

To create was a fundament, to appreciate, a supplement.

And you? Now that I have discovered you? Beautiful, dangerous, unleashed. Still I try to hold you, knowing that your body is faced with knives.