In the end, it wasn't death that surprised her but the stubbornness of life.

You begin always knowing nothing. You remain forever an amateur, a first timer.

To be inclusive you must accommodate different levels of sophistication.

Some cities have fallen into ruin and some are built upon ruins but others contain their own ruins while still growing.

She could become a spinster, like Emily Dickinson, writing poems full of dashes and brilliance, and never gaining weight.

Being a writer is a solitary life. So the little part of me that's an actor still enjoys the theatrical part of reading and doing the voices and telling the story.

So do boys and men announce their intentions. They cover you like a sarcophagus lid. And call it love.