There's something final about saying you were married once. It's like saying you were dead once. It shuts them up.

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.

In the animal world individuals cheat, as do we.

When demons are required someone will always be found to supply the part, and whether you step forward or are pushed is all the same in the end.

I wanted to forget the past, but it refused to forget me; it waited for sleep, then cornered me.

You might 'write from the heart,' but you'd better polish with your brain.

Instead I will say, "Take me to your trees. Take me to your breakfasts, your sunsets, your bad dreams, your shoes, your nouns. Take me to your fingers; take me to your deaths." These are worth it. These are what I have come for.