I had spent my whole life feeling homesick. The only difference between the two of us was that I didn't know what or where home was.

Nothing sinister. Just getting exercise. Although some might consider that sinister.

Not only was he not mad, but he was a musician, and my favorite men had always been musicians or writers or anything that involved the creative process and behaving like tortured artists. ... I found financial insecurity a great aphrodisiac.

I'm proud of what I write and feel endorsed by my readers.

My truth is that what doesn't kill you makes you weaker rather than stronger, although it makes you wiser.

Every day I wake up afraid that I won't be able to write, that today is the day it has left me.

I love Prada. Not so much the clothes, which are for malnourished thirteen-year-olds, but I covet, with covety covetousness, the shoes and handbags. Like, I LOVE them. If I was given a choice between world peace and a Prada handbag, I'd dither. (I'm not proud of this, I'm only saying.)