I prayed hard and only gradually became aware that this fierce praying was a way of finding prologue and entrance into my own writing. This came as both astonishment and relief. When I thought God had abandoned me, I discovered that He had simply given me a different voice to praise the inexhaustible beauty of the made world.

Every woman I had ever met who walked through the world appraised and classified by an extraordinary physicality had also received the keys to an unbearable solitude. It was the coefficient of their beauty, the price they had to pay.

Writing poetry and reading books causes brain damage.

Fantasy is one of the soul's brighter porcelains.

Craziness attacks the softest eyes and hamstrings the gentlest flanks.

A story is a living thing, it moves and shifts.

My mother raised me to be a writer.