I grew up in a family where, through my teenage years, I was expected to go to church on Sunday. It wasn't terribly painful.

I am compulsive about writing, I need to do it the way I need sleep and exercise and food and sex; I can go without it for a while, but then I need it.

There are few things as seemingly untouched by the real world as a child asleep.

She felt detached from her family, and thought it strange how they had lavished so much attention on her, as a child, and then at some appointed, prearranged time they seemed to stop the flow of affection and being the expectations - as if, for a brief phrase, you were expected to absorb love (and get enough), and then, for a much longer and more serious phase, you were expected to fulfill certain obligations.

It is much easier to be flexible about where a story begins than it ever was for me to change my mind about where and how a story ended.

I always thought that you could do worse than find yourself dying in the company of a devoted former student.

You think you have a memory; but it has you!