Writing is the perfect balance between self-confidence and self-doubt, with a bit of self-delusion thrown in.
Whoever invented men had definitely not ironed out all the kinks.
I suppose a child's first obligation is to become a stranger to his parents.
My sister and I may have been crafted of the same genetic clay, baked in the same uterine kiln, but we were disparate species, doomed never to love each other except blindly.
A mother never fully delivers.
Behind the lens, I found refuge and freedom, distance and connection, an intoxicating way to tame the huge, chaotic world.