It was hard to reassure grown-ups when you weren't certain yourself what you were feeling and thinking—when thoughts dissolved before you could name them.
When I begin a story at my desk, the window to my back, the path is not there. As I start to walk, I make the path.
My life was incoherent to me. I felt it quivering, spitting out broken teeth.
I like to cook; it is, for me, a happy combination of mindlessness and purpose.
The truth came slowly like a story told by people interrupting each other.
Freedom is a public library.