None of the wives mention the security guards by the door, who will probably tackle us to the ground if we try to leave without our husbands.

No matter how lonely it makes me, and no matter how wide and horrific the loneliness, at least I remember who I am.

The only characters I ever don't like are ones that leave no impression on me. And I don't write characters that leave no impression on me.

His three wives are huddled together on the bare mattress, one of them dying; when we're together, we form an alliance he can't touch. He's scared to even try.

It was my fifth grade teacher who introduced the idea that writing could be more than a hobby for me.

I see an ocean that’s spilled out of a wineglass, its body clear and sparkling and folding over itself. I see a ribbon of sand.

I don't dare touch her. Loss is a knowledge I'm sorry to have. Perhaps the only thing worse than experiencing it, is watching it replay anew in someone else--all the awful stages picking up like a chorus that has to be sung.