When you get to be my age, all your friends have either died or moved to Florida.

If arrogance is the heady wine of youth, then humility must be its eternal hangover.

Mail from home was so important when you were traveling. It kept you in touch with the familiar, even the part you were running from.

Eighty's a landmark and people treat you differently than they do when you're seventy-nine. At seventy-nine, if you drop something it just lies there. At eighty, people pick it up for you.

Emotion seemed more valid than experience, for I had so much of the former and so little of the latter.

Vanity, wounded pride, rejection, self-delusion. I could recite a litany of little pinpricks that finally produce a gaping wound. That's how marriages and friendships come apart.

People who let the weak or greedy drink their blood sometimes have a need to play God.

Fear is for the old. Lack of it is one of the joys of youth.

It's especially fitting that they call a cruise ship 'she,' for she is pregnant with a thousand adult embryos who long to stay forever warm and sheltered in this great white womb.

The rush of power to the head is not as becoming as a new hat

Even angels must find their wings too heavy sometimes.

The path to your dream is more about following a direction than arriving at a destination.

Your mom was right when she told you never to discuss politics and religion because emotions run so high in those arenas. Especially religion.

Women are impossible, witches are worse, and women who are powerful witches are going to be the death of me.

Every little detail to every little movement must be perfect. Perfection in movement.

Think different in order to change the rules. By definition, if you don't change the rules you aren't a revolutionary, and if you don't think different, you won't change the rules.

There are ignorant priests and ignorant people, who are all too ready to cry sorcery if a woman is only a little wiser than they are!

Knowing that conscious decisions and personal memory are much too small a place to live, every human being streams at night into the loving nowhere, or during the day, in some absorbing work.

Hi, Mom…Yes, I know my heart rate’s dangerously elevated. That sound? I’m being shot at, Ma. Gotta go now. Love you much. Hugs and kisses. (Devyn)

Songs are like ropes that you can kind of hang on to or pull yourself up on.

I cannot tell by what logic we call a toad, a bear, or an elephant ugly; they being created in those outward shapes and figures which best express the actions of their inward forms.