The answers you get from literature depend on the questions you pose.

We've learned to see the world in gasps.

at last you, will say (maybe without speaking) (there are mountains inside your skull garden and chaos, ocean and hurricane; certain corners of rooms, portraits of great-grandmothers, curtains of a particular shade; your deserts; your private dinosaurs; the first woman) all i need to know: tell me everything just as it was from the beginning.

I am too old to have ever been very worried about what "genre" any given book of mine might be. I read everything. I am easily amused.

He considers me also a little fragile because artistic. I need to be cared for, like a potted plant.

She knows herself to be at the mercy of events, and she knows by now that events have no mercy.

Powerlessness and silence go together.