Basically what we have here is a dreamer. Somebody out of touch with reality. When she jumped, she probably thought she'd fly

There comes a moment, when you get lost in the woods, when the woods begin to feel like home.

But in the end it wasn't up to me. The bigs things never are. Birth, I mean, and death. And love. And what love bequeaths to us before we're born.

To start with, look at all the books.

There is a small window of opportunity for freckled girls to tan.

Emotions, in my experience, aren't covered by single words. I don't believe in "sadness", "joy", or "regret". Maybe the best proof that the language is patriarchal is that is oversimplifies feeling. I'd like to have at my disposal complicated hybrid emotions.

If I write a character, instead of looking from the outside, like maybe a journalist would, trying to describe them physically and figuring out what kind of things they might be interested in or have in their house, I don't really do it that way. I try to feel what it would be like to be inside this person, to be them.