I want to lay up like that, to float unstructured, without ambition or anxiety. I want to inhabit my life like a porch.

What they don't know is that I went over the edge years ago, and lived to tell the tale.

I swear I could write a book about all the things no one has ever thanked me for.

Forget love. Try good manners.

It's life. You don't figure it out. You just climb up on the beast and ride.

As a writer, I am not goddess of the universes I create. I am at most a stage manager of the plentiful gifts which tumble out of the horn of plenty, which is to say there is a source so sweet and forgiving and generous that I pray every day to let that source be my guide.

But who has time to write memoirs? I’m still living my memoirs.