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.

To take that risk, to offer life and remain alive, open yourself like this and become whole.

The problem with meditating is I generally go to sleep, and that's because I'm doing it wrong.

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

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.

When they came to harvest my corpse (open your mouth, close your eyes) cut my body from the rope, surprise, surprise: I was still alive. Tough luck, folks, I know the law: you can't execute me twice for the same thing. How nice. I fell to the clover, breathed it in, and bared my teeth at them in a filthy grin. You can imagine how that went over. Now I only need to look out at them through my sky-blue eyes. They see their own ill will staring then in the forehead and turn tail Before, I was not a witch. But now I am one.

Time is not a line but a dimension, like the dimensions of space.