things that have cost more than they're worth leave a bitter taste. A taste of salt and sweat.

Everything drops away, comes to be unimportant in the dark. It's like sleep almost. A freedom from self, from ugliness.

I am sick of war. Every woman of my generation is sick of war. Fifty years of war. Wars rumored, wars beginning, wars fought, wars ending, wars paid for, wars endured.

things that have cost more than they're worth leave a bitter taste. A taste of salt and sweat.

The writer's advantage, in some respects, over those whose expression lies in other fields, is in the privilege of a double - sometimes a triple - living. Pleasure multiplied in the mirrors of words, and pain siphoned off in words.

The woods seemed all answer and healing and more than enough to live for.

in mad people fear goes on constantly, night and day, wearing one ditch in the mind that all thoughts must travel in.