Let us not seek to make it less monstrous, for our own convenience, our own sense of beauty, lest, awakened in one unthinkable hour, we are embarrassed by the miracle, and crushed by remonstrance.

Sun and moon, sun and moon, time goes.

What art offers is space - a certain breathing room for the spirit.

It's a man's world, they say; but in its daily textures it is a world created by and for women.

Prose should have a flow, the forward momentum of a certain energized weight; it should feel like a voice tumbling in your ear.

Each day, we wake slightly altered, and the person we were yesterday is dead. So why, one could say, be afraid of death, when death comes all the time?

It is in middles that extremes clash, where ambiguity restlessly rules.