Why are you so interested in amoebas?" "Oh, they're immortal," he said, "and sort of shapeless and flexible. Being a person is getting too complicated.

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.

Nobody dies from lack of sex. It's lack of love we die from.

If a stranger taps you on the ass and says, "How's the little lady today!" you will probably cringe. But if he's an American, he's only being friendly.

I want everything back, the way it was. But there is no point to it, this wanting.

In the evenings there's been thunder, a distant bumping and stumbling, like God on a sullen binge.

[My favorite word is] and. It is so hopeful.