The first sentence cant be written until the final sentence is written.

And that's the insult of it, how always it comes back to a woman being a "good" mother in the world's eyes or a "bad" mother, how everything in a woman's life is funneled through her body between her legs.

Our enemy is by tradition our savior, in preventing us from superficiality.

Much of my writing is energized by unresolved memories - something like ghosts in the psychological sense.

My life is a very interior and solitary life. I tend not to care that much about external things.

To the west, the Pacific Ocean, which revulses me, for its vastness cannot be fitted into any box.

We are the species that clamors to be lied to.