She would be a new person, she vowed. They said no matter how far a mule travels it can never come back a horse, but she would show them all.

I'm like everybody else: weak, full of mistakes, but basically good.

As artists we are here to make you uncomfortable with the complexity of your reality.

Sucks to be left out of adolescence, sort of like getting locked in the closet on Venus when the sun appears for the first time in a hundred years.

I always individuate myself from other writers who say they would die if they couldn't write. For me, I'd die if I couldn't read.

Nobody warned me that when you fall in love, you really fall in love forever.

Instead of lowering your head and copping to it like a man, you pick up the journal as one might hold a bady's beshattered diaper, as one might pinch a recently benutted condom. You glance at the offending passages. Then you look at her and smile a smile your dissembling face will remember until the day you die. Baby, you say, baby, this is part of my novel. This is how you lose her.