I had gone to Paris to immerse myself in painting and I came back wholly involved in words and rhythms.

I was horny, but I was innocent 'cause I was a real-late bloomer and not particularly attractive. In fact, homely.

We were as Hansel and Gretel and we ventured out into the black forest of the world.

I wanted to go to Portland because it's a really good book town.

The things I thought would happen didn't. Things I never anticipated unfolded.

Never let go of that fiery sadness called desire.

The new artists coming through were very materialistic and Hollywood, not so engaged in communication.