My mother didn't raise me to be a critic, but I seem to have become one anyway.

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

But it is just two lovers, holding hands and in a hurry to reach their car, their locked hands a starfish leaping through the dark.

Movies took you right up to the edge but kept you safe.

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

Being able to write becomes a kind of shield, a way of hiding, a way of too instantly transforming pain into honey.

All those little congruences and arabesques you prepared with such delicate anticipatory pleasure are gobbled up as if by pigs at a pastry cart.