One writes to memorialize, and to bring to life again that which has been lost.
Near the point of impact, time acelerates to the speed of light.
Not even the most devastating truth can be told; it must be evoked.
I did not consider that I would lead a literary life. I'd thought initially, as a young girl, that I would be a teacher, since I so admired many of my teachers. And though I loved writing, I did not ever think of myself as a writer.
Why is humanism not the preeminent belief of humankind?
When my brother called to inform me, on the morning of May 22, 2003, that our mother Caroline Oates had died suddenly of a stroke, it was a shock from which, in a way, I have yet to recover.