But he does look stupid.' Yearning. Not stupid. He wants awfully to be on the inside staring out: anybody with their nose pressed against a glass is liable to look stupid.

Rusty thinks I should smoke marijuana, and I did for a while, but it only makes me giggle.

The brain may take advice, but not the heart, and love, having no geography, knows no boundaries: weight and sink it deep, no matter, it will rise and find the surface.

I guess if you're that thin and that small you don't need to take up too much space or breathe that much air. You just keep on going.

What we want most is to be held...and told..that everything (everything is a funny thing, is baby milk and papa's eyes, is roaring logs on a cold morning, is hoot owls and the boy who makes you cry after school, is mama's long hair, is being afraid and twisted faces on the bedroom wall)...is going to be alright.

Talent is a valued tormentor.

Sometimes when I think how good my book can be, I can hardly breathe.