Most secrets should never be told, but especially those that are more menacing to the listener than to the teller.

I've got something inside of me, peasantlike and stubborn, and I'm in it till the end of the race.

Wrinkles and bones, white hair and diamonds: I can't wait.

June, July, all through the warm months she hibernated like a winter animal who did not know spring had come and gone.

If you sweep a house, and tend its fires and fill its stove, and there is love in you all the years you are doing this, then you and that house are married, that house is yours.

They can romanticize us so, mirrors, and that is their secret: what a subtle torture it would be to destroy all the mirrors in the world: where then could we look for reassurance of our identities?

I remember things the way they should have been.