Half an ear cocked, something in me, all night, every night, is waiting for you to come home.

For that matter, thinking of one's self as exceptional is probably more the rule than not.

Desire is one of the burning experiences of human life.

That boy hardly needed a mask when his naked face was already impenetrable.

I first foreswore motherhood when I was about eight years old. ... [Children] were annoying. We were loud and sneaky and broke things. As an eight-year-old, maybe I was simply mortified by the prospect of being saddled with myself.

...some people coddle their own afflictions the way others spoil small pedigreed dogs with cans of pate.

I thought at the time that I couldn't be horrified anymore, or wounded. I suppose that's a common conceit, that you've already been so damaged that damage itself, in its totality, makes you safe.