I was raised in rural south Jersey, and there was no culture there. There was a small library, and that was it. There was nothing else.

Even as a child, I knew what I didn't want. I didn't want to wear red lipstick.

My mother had no end of tragedy in her life. She would make herself get up and take a deep breath and go out and do laundry. Hang up sheets.

In the war of magic and religion, is magic ultimately the victor? Perhaps priest and magician were once one, but the priest, learning humility in the face of God, discarded the spell for prayer.

I gave you a wrist watch, baby, and you wouldn't even give me the time of day.

For Christmas every year, my mother used to give me those cheap little diaries that would tell your horoscope and provide a little blank slot for each day.

I got over the loss of his desk and chair, but never the desire to produce a string of words more precious than the emeralds of Cortés.