The objects I chose were designed to hold something, but I didn't fill them up. They remained empty. They were little symbolic shrines to thirst.

I am afraid of falling into hopeless despair, over my wasted life, and I am still not sure how it happened.

We shouldn't be saying 'Save the planet'; we should be saying: 'Save viable conditions in which people can live.' That's what we're dealing with here.

Gardening is not a rational act.

All fat women look the same; they all look 42.

And she finds it difficult to believe—that a person would love her even when she isn't trying. Trying to figure out what other people need, trying to be worthy.

The bell that measures time is ringing