In some ways, I don’t feel as if I had a choice. Looking back at my childhood, even before I could read and write, I was making up stories. I love reading and I love telling stories, and the times in my life when I’ve tried to ignore that part of me, I’ve gone a little crazy. Characters start tugging on my sleeves, words start haunting me, and I feel generally unsatisfied. Really, being a writer sounds more like a mental illness than a professional choice.

... If we don't tell strange stories, when something strange happens we won't believe it.

Smell is the voice of the soul.

You are my butterfly and refuse to set you free.

What? Don't British women know how to use their knees?

You saw my leg?" "How can a man help what he sees?" he said. "And, if I could add, you possess a very fine leg.

I'm not bossy - I just happen to be more capable than most everyone else.