Moments before sleep are when she feels most alive, leaping across fragments of the day, bringing each moment into the bed with her like a child with schoolbooks and pencils. The day seems to have no order until these times, which are like a ledger for her, her body full of stories and situations.

The first sentence of every novel should be: Trust me, this will take time but there is order here, very faint, very human.

We are expanded by tears, we are told, not reduced by them.

How does this happen? To fall in love and be disassembled.

Most of the time in our world, truth is just opinion.

Half a page--and the morning is already ancient.

You don't want to write your own opinion, you don't want to just represent yourself, but represent yourself through someone else.