Nobody loved her and she wouldn’t have liked it if they had, she considered love a serious disability.

I don't want you to write about what you know, because you don't know anything. I don't want to hear about your boyfriend or your grandma... I'm getting a little tired of 'my life story as fiction'. Please don't tell me about your little life - is there nothing larger? More important?

I get angry about things, then go on and work.

But her brain was not interested in the future. Loaded with the past and hungry for more, it left her no room to imagine, let alone plan for, the next day.

Birth, life, and death― each took place on the hidden side of a leaf.

When you stiffen, you know that whatever you stiffen about is very important. The stuff is important, the fear itself is information.

At some point in life, the world's beauty becomes enough.