In fiction, I exercise my nosiness. I am as curious as my cats, and indeed that has led to trouble often enough and used up several of my nine lives. I am an avid listener. I am fascinated by other people's lives, the choices they make and how that works out through time, what they have done and left undone, what they tell me and what they keep secret and silent, what they lie about and what they confess, what they are proud of and what shames them, what they hope for and what they fear. The source of my fiction is the desire to understand people and their choices through time.

Live as if you like yourself, and it may happen.

The best gift you can give is a hug: one size fits all and no one ever minds if you return it.

We live in a media soup and are constantly being programmed or are fighting that programming. Thus any truthful account of a life, every part of a life, is about society as well as an individual.

Too much self-regard has never struck me as dignified: trying to twist over my shoulder to view my own behind.

The pitcher cries for water to carry and a person for work that is real.

The will to be totally rational is the will to be made out of glass and steel: and to use others as if they were glass and steel.