It's always a disappointing business confronting my own reflection. My body isn't bad. It's a perfectly nice, serviceable body. It's just that the external me- the study, lightly wrinkled, handbagged me- does so little credit to the stuff that's inside.

We are bound by the secrets we share.

Always mind the distance between your dreams and your reality.

When I tried to do something else, everyone behaved as if I was Gypsy Rose Lee trying to paint a Matisse.

For most people, honesty is such an unusual departure from their standard modus operandi - such an abherration in their workaday mendacity - that they feel obliged to alert you when a moment of sincerity is coming on.

I don't write books for people to be friends with the characters. If you want to find friends, go to a cocktail party.

It's similar to the way you feel cuddling an infant or a kitten, when you want to squeeze it so hard you'd kill it.