It is fascinating to me that when the lists of the great writers are trotted out year after year, you often find lists without a single woman mentioned.

Dreaming is another form of thinking, more concrete, more economical, more visual, and often more emotional than the thoughts of the day, but a thinking through of the day, nevertheless.

Memory changes as a person matures.

Crippled and crazy, we hobble toward the finish line, pen in hand.

Depression is when you think there's nothing to be done. Fortunately I always think there's something to be done.

Women really are not supposed to be imaginative. That creativity of this kind is supposed to belong to men. You know, because women make babies. I find the double standards shocking.

There is no future without a past, because what is to be cannot be imagined except as a form of repetition.