When I was a girl, my life was music that was always getting louder. Everything moved me. A dog following a stranger. That made me feel so much.

She was like a drowning person, flailing, reaching for anything that might save her. Her life was an urgent, desperate struggle to justify her life.

I do think ordinariness is, in a way, the enemy, but not ordinariness as the opposite of flamboyance.

She wants to know if I love her, that's all anyone wants from anyone else, not love itself but the knowledge that love is there, like new batteries in the flashlight in the emergency kit in the hall closet.

I hope that one day you will have the experience of doing something you do not understand for someone you love.

I kept thinking how they were all names of dead people, and how names are basically the only thing dead people keep.

I desperately wish I had my tambourine with me now, because even after everything I'm still wearing heavy boots, and sometimes it helps to play a good beat