When they asked some old Roman philosopher or other how he wanted to die, he said he would open his veins in a warm bath. I thought it would be easy, lying in the tup and seeing the redness flower from my wrists, flush after flush through the clear water, till I sank into sleep under a surface gaudy as poppies.

I think I made you up inside my head.

I want so obviously, so desperately to be loved, and to be capable of love.

There was a beautiful time.

I began to see why woman-haters could make such fools of women. Woman-haters were like gods: invulnerable and chock full of power. They descended, and then they disappeared. You could never catch one.

There is more than one good way to drown.

Out of the ash I rise with my red hair and I eat men like air.