Like a domestic cat, purring on the sofa by day, but by night, a strutting queen, a natural killer, disdainful of her other life.

Children are knives, my mother once said. They don’t mean to, but they cut. And yet we cling to them, don’t we, we clasp them until the blood flows.

I'm incapable of hiding my feelings when I'm around someone I don't like.

I carried recipes in my head like maps.

I'm not sure I believe in the whole 'ghost-afterlife' thing, but I think places are marked by people who have been there.

I'd rather be a freak than a clone.

I'm insatiably curious.