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

Household objects lost meaning. A bedside clock became a hunk of molded plastic, telling something called time, in a world marking it's passage for some reason.

My goal in life is to become an adjective.

Their desire was silent yet magnificent, like a thousand daisies attuning their faces toward the path of the sun.

The only way we know it's true is that we both dreamed it. That's what reality is. It's a dream everyone has together.

We felt the imprisonment of being a girl, the way it made your mind active and dreamy, and how you ended up knowing which colors went together. We knew that the girls were our twins, that we all existed in space like animals with identical skins, and that they knew everything about us though we couldn’t fathom them at all. We knew, finally, that the girls were really women in disguise, that they understood love and even death, and that our job was merely to create the noise that seemed to fascinate them.

When you stood between somebody you loved and death, it was hard to be awake and it was hard to sleep.