When a woman makes the choice to marry, to have children; in one way her life begins but in another way it stops. You build a life of details. You become a mother, a wife and you stop and stay steady so that your children can move. And when they leave they take your life of details with them. And then you're expected move again only you don't remember what moves you because no-one has asked in so long. Not even yourself.

The old dreams were good dreams; they didn't work out but I'm glad I had them.

An inherent kindness exists in the process of aging ... we are allowed to move along gradually.

I am the highway and a peregrine and all the sails that ever went to sea

The heart never forgets, never gives up, the territory marked off for those who came before.

We're all getting lashed to the great wheel of uniformity.

It's kind of strange-- in fiction you get to tell lies and are applauded for it.