I guess my writing has changed as my life has.

And what did you want? To call myself beloved, to feel myself beloved on the earth.

I am too nervous to eat pie.

Anyone can express himself or herself, but what writers and poets want to do in their work, more than simply express themselves, is communicate.

The smooth stones you pick up and examine under the moon's light have been made blue from the sea. Next morning when you pull them from your trouser pocket, they are still blue.

That morning she pours Teacher's over my belly and licks it off. That afternoon she tries to jump out the window.

Something’s died in me,” she goes. “It took a long time for it to do it, but it’s dead. You’ve killed something, just like you’d took an axe to it. Everything is dirt now.