He kissed me with a fire like no other, as if he were afraid breaking the kiss would break us.

Everybody has something to tell. Everyone has a story. I want to know yours.

For now, I'll let you plead temporary amnesia, " he said and lifted my chin to him. "But I'm never going to forget what it felt like when you were biting my lip instead of your own.

Success didn't spoil me I've always been insufferable.

After grief for sin there should be joy for forgiveness.

We forget our health and comfort and notice a pinching shoe. Much of living well is detaching from our boring stories of pain and shifting focus

My wants are simple: a job that I like and a guy whom I love.

My first novel is loaded with food references largely because my cupboards were bare, and I was writing hungry.

We all travel the Milky Way together, trees and men.

I think the mad wives and mistresses are my hysterics - even the fictionalized ones. I want to trace how they were silenced, I want to find for them an escape route.

Do you think that revolutions are made with rose water?

You're talking to someone, to a reader, and you get to express in the way you want to. And you get to play with it. It's kind of like acting, but it's on paper.

Indulgence, twin sister of guilt.