Emotions, in my experience aren't covered by single words. I don't believe in "sadness," "joy," or "regret." I'd like to have at my disposal complicated hybrid emotions, Germanic traincar constructions like, say, "the happiness that attends disaster." Or: "the disappointment of sleeping with one's fantasy." ... I'd like to have a word for "the sadness inspired by failing restaurants" as well as for "the excitement of getting a room with a minibar." I've never had the right words to describe my life.

She understood that her heart operated on its own instructions, that she had no control over it or, indeed, anything else.

girls forbidden to dance would only attract husbands with bad complexions and sunken chests.

Everyone struggles against despair, but it always wins in the end. It has to. It's the thing that lets us say goodbye.

Whenever we got a glimpse, their faces looked indecently revealed, as though we were used to seeing women in veils.

One of the reasons that art is important to me is sometimes it actually feels more coherent than life. It orders the chaos.

We knew the pain of winter rushing up your skirt, and the ache of keeping your knees together in class, and how drab and infuriating it was to jump rope while the boys played baseball. We could never understand why the girls cared so much about being mature, or why they felt compelled to compliment each other.