What fabrications they are, mothers. Scarecrows, wax dolls for us to stick pins into, crude diagrams. We deny them an existence of their own, we make them up to suit ourselves -- our own hungers, our own wishes, our own deficiencies.

I feel like cotton candy: sugar and air. Squeeze me and I’d turn into a small sickly damp wad of weeping pinky-red.

I began writing at the age of 5, but there was a dark period between the ages of 8 and 16 when I didn't write. I started again at 16. And have no idea why, but it was suddenly the only thing I wanted to do.

Where do the words go when we have said them?

The use of "religion" as an excuse to repress the freedom of expression and to deny human rights is not confined to any country or time.

I feel like the word shatter.

Science fiction is filled with Martians and space travel to other planets, and things like that.