I have almost never been compared to male writers in any review. All women.

All of my wildness is in the writing. I have discovered I have to be orderly and boring in my personal life to be wild in my work.

I am worthy of being read. I mean, one has to be convinced of one's genius.

She smoked because she craved something to do with her hands, that delicate interplay of light and cup and first inhale. Craved the repetition of it. It was so difficult sometimes to be still in a room, alone with oneself. To bare oneself to the lonely.

I think for a woman, getting older can help, through personal experience, although of course older women are then rendered invisible in our society, another existential crisis.

For years and years I carried these notebooks around with me - I had hundreds of pages of notes, these fragments that consisted of biographical anecdotes, diary passages, critical rants, agitations, scenes of my marriage.

I think that writing and publishing are different. I think I will always write; I might not always publish. The idea of not publishing is wonderful!