Books

"My voice stayed even through this, but I wasn’t trying. It was this thing still inside me- this quiet that had hold of my limbs and seemed to be running the rest of me."

"Have you ever had your heart broken? It’s something that instills a great sense of dread, and it colours everything that happens afterwards in an endless, linear, slow motion. And I hate linearity. It bores everyone."

"Be careful of people who feel weak, I think. Because it's possible that one day they'll want to feel strong and you'll never recover from it. Maybe that's a thought to add to my file."

"It didn’t look like a key. It was just a little bent piece of metal and though I tried it on my own wrist a few times and it worked, the thought of being handcuffed to the bedposts in this yellow house scared me, even if the people who owned it edited radical books."

Language, as she deployed it, was neither a line cast nor a bullet fired. It was a catholic mechanism: the sharp twist of a pilot biscuit into the waifish body of a christ. A word, placed on her tongue, became flesh. One night it was almost morning, I could almost see her, every sentence a necklace she was pulling out of her mouth, tangled in smoke.