I sang "O Holy Night" in a school choir. My mother came and listened to me and complimented me. So that was the high point. I cannot sing a note.

If happiness is anticipation with certainty, we were happy.

Sometimes what I write on the page frightens me, so I feel free when I write, but I don't feel safe.

Grown don't mean nothing to a mother. A child is a child. They get bigger, older, but grown? What's that supposed to mean? In my heart it don't mean a thing.

Sweet, she thought. He must think I can't bear to hear him say it. That after all I have told him and after telling me how many feet I have, "goodbye" would break me to pieces. Ain't that sweet. "So long," she murmured from the far side of the trees.

If I’d a knowed more, I would a loved more.

Everything I've ever done, in the writing world, has been to expand articulation, rather than to close it.