Basically, I realized I was living in that awful stage of life between twenty-six to and thirty-seven known as stupidity. It's when you don't know anything, not even as much as you did when you were younger, and you don't even have a philosophy about all the things you don't know, the way you did when you were twenty or would again when you were thirty-eight.

Writers have no real area of expertise. They are merely generalists with a highly inflamed sense of punctuation.

The affectionate farce I make of him ignores the ways I feel his lack of love for me. But we are managing.

We were in dialogue that was about something other than what we were saying.

Once love had seemed like magic. Now it seemed like tricks.

Most things good for writing are bad for life.

She was afraid, and the afraid, she realized, sought opportunities for bravery in love.