But I began then to think of time as having a shape, something you could see, like a series of liquid transparencies, one laid on top of another.

A divorce is like an amputation: you survive it, but there's less of you.

These things you did were like prayers; you did them and you hoped they would save you. And for the most part they did. Or something did; you could tell by the fact that you were still alive.

His mouth is on me, his hands, I can't wait and he's moving, already, love, it's been so long, I'm alive in my skin, again, arms around him, falling and water softly everywhere, never-ending.

When I was 16, I started publishing all kinds of things in school magazines.

You can wet the rim of a glass and run your finger around the rim and it will make a sound. This is what I feel like: this sound of glass. I feel like the word shatter. I want to be with someone.

There would be no Sherlock Holmes if it were not for serial publication.