The reason life is so strange is that so often people have no choice.
My father represented authority, which meant—to me—that he could not also represent understanding.
I am the cat that walks alone.
It's deprivation that makes people writers, if they have it in them to be a writer.
Satin and lace and brown velvet and the faint odor of violets. That was all which was left to him of his love.
What we refer to confidently as memory is really a form of storytelling that goes on continually in the mind and often changes with the telling.