In the end, it wasn't death that surprised her but the stubbornness of life.

We knew that Cecilia had killed herself because she was a misfit, because the beyond called to her, and we knew that her sisters, once abandoned, felt her calling from that place, too.

During a warm winter rain ... the basins of her collarbones collected water.

The girls took into their own hands decisions better left to God. They became too powerful to live among us, too self-concerned, too visionary, too blind.

They made us participate in their own madness, because we couldn't help but retrace their steps, rethink their thoughts, and see that none of them led to us.

At that moment Mr. Lisbon had the feeling that he didn't know who she was, that children were only strangers you agreed to live with, and he reached out in order to meet her for the first time.

We realized that the version of the world they rendered for us was not the world they really believed in...

Mr. Lisbon had the feeling that he didn't know who she was, that children were only strangers you agreed to live with.

Household objects lost meaning. A bedside clock became a hunk of molded plastic, telling something called time, in a world marking its passage for some reason.

When we asked him to sum up his impression of the girls' emotional state at that point, he said, "Buffeted but not broken.

We felt the imprisonment of being a girl, the way it made your mind active and dreamy, and how you ended up knowing which colors went together.

Your vision must state the end result and must be stated in the positive so that it will be a constant source of inspiration. Begin by, “I will…

I've always found that once you're in the door of a place and you have the chance to show how you operate and how talented you are, then anything can happen.

Film noir has a mood that everyone can feel. It’s people in trouble, at night, with a little bit of wind and the right kind of music. It’s a beautiful thing.

A neat and orderly laboratory is unlikely. It is, after all, so much a place of false starts and multiple attempts.

To know someone here or there with whom you can feel there is understanding in spite of distances or thoughts expressed That can make life a garden.

Art is arbitrary but it sort of reveals itself to be right or wrong anyway.

There's no verbs before time itself exists, right? There's no popping into existence, there's no fluctuating, there's no quantum mechanical craziness, there is literally nothing.

I think it's a lot harder when you're opening. You really have to win people over.

If you're a smart writer, you listen.

In order to get what you want, you must act.