They will not let you have peace, they don't want you to have anything they don't have themselves.

I'm working on my own life story. I don't mean I'm putting it together; no, I'm taking it apart. If you'd wanted the narrative line you should have asked earlier, when I still knew everything and was more than willing to tell. That was before I discovered the virtues of scissors, the virtues of matches.

Screw poetry, it’s you I want, your taste, rain on you, mouth on your skin.

I've never bought into any sort of hard and fast, this-box/that-box characterization. People are individuals. Yes, they may be expected to be a particular way. But that doesn't mean they're going to be that way.

I have periods now, like normal girls; I too am among the knowing, I too can sit out volleyball games and go to the nurse's for aspirin and waddle along the halls with a pad like a flattened rabbit tail wadded between my legs, sopping with liver-colored blood.

You can pretty much trace when the big individual indebtedness kicked in, and it was when the credit card became generally available.

You refuse to own yourself, you permit others to do it for you