When God hands you a gift, he also hands you a whip; and the whip is intended for self-flagellation solely.

I don't want to own anything until I find a place where me and things go together.

And in this moment, like a swift intake of breath, the rain came.

She sounds the way bananas taste.

Writing in the first person automatically gives you a point of view.

She was a triumph over ugliness, so often more beguiling than real beauty, if only because it contains paradox. In this case, as opposed to the scrupulous method of good taste and scientific grooming, the trick had been worked by exaggerating defects; she'd made them ornamental by admitting them boldly.

I always felt that nobody was going to understand me, going to understand what I felt about things. I guess that's why I started writing. At least on paper I could put down what I thought.