My change from girl to boy was far less dramatic than the distance anybody travels from infancy to adulthood.

The zipper opened all the way down our spines.

The window gave onto a view of dove-gray roofs and balconies, each one containing the same cracked flowerpot and sleeping feline. It was as if the entire city of Paris had agreed to abide by a single understated taste. Each neighbor was doing his or her own to keep up standards, which was difficult because the French ideal wasn't clearly delineated like the neatness and greenness of American lawns, but more of a picturesque disrepair. It took courage to let things fall apart so beautifully.

The girls took into their own hands decisions better left to God. They became too powerful to live among us, too self-concerned, too visionary, too blind.

People don't save other people. People save themselves.

I know that attaching memories to books may be going out of the world, but while it lasts, it's a strong record of your life.

Paris was a museum displaying exactly itself.