I myself have perceived women's actions as more aggressive than I would have in men because I too am walking around with my own biases. The way to fight them is to become conscious of them.

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

The fictive is an emormous territory it turns out, its boundaries vague, and there is little certainty about where it begins and ends.

Widowers marry again because it makes their lives easier. Widows often don't, because it makes their lives harder. [p. 61]

We chart delusions through collective agreement.

Reading is perception as translation. The inert signs of an alphabet become living meanings in the mind.

Our memory fragments don't have any coherence until they're imagined in words. Time is a property of language, of syntax, and tense.