Tears water our eyes.Remember, mom soothes, like the beautiful blooms beneath the weeds, Nana is still Nana underneath.
The dizzy rapture of starving. The power of needing nothing. By force of will I make myself the impossible sprite who lives on air, on water, on purity.
And now you’ll never be able to have anyone else, because you won’t be able to keep our secret. You’ll tell whoever it is, and once he knows, he’ll leave you.
The road always stretches endlessly ahead and behind us, so that we are out of time as well as out of place.
I have at last admitted that not only was I angry with my mother, but, in fact, I wanted to destroy her as a child. And I was so concerned to be a woman who was different from my mother that I had thi...
I like vampires, tuberculosis, anything to do with blood. Then I read a biography of Rasputin and found out he'd had this daughter who had become a famous lion tamer and been billed as the daughter of...
We're taught to expect unconditional love from our parents, but I think it is more the gift our children give us. It's they who love us helplessly, no matter what or who we are.
Who’s normal? Normal is a mathematical concept. It has no bearing on human personality or relationships.
I don’t go to graduate school. Instead, I move to New York, the city where I naively imagine writers must go.
It's terrible to live believing that everything you do is of the utmost importance.
My days are as long as despair can make them.
The three of us spend much of our week together at art museums and botanic gardens and other tourist attractions. We are drawn to these places of silent staring and confused, enervated wandering becau...
The 1643 Martyrologie des chevaliers (Martyrology of knights)
We know the seductive alchemy of art. To transform private anguish into a narrative of truth, if not beauty; to make sense where there was none; to bring order out of chaos - these are the promises ar...
Nights, in my room, I turn the handle of my grandfather’s old-fashioned razor to release the blade from under its stainless steel cover. I trace the sharp edge over my arm, press it into places where...
Prophecy, annunciation, virginity. A hidden sword, an angel bearing a crown of jewels. An army of knights, a cloud of butterflies, a phallic arrow that missed its mark. A tower cell, an evil bishop, a...
Guillaume Gruel, Richemont’s personal chronicler, recorded the dialogue from his employer’s perspective with an evident taste for the dashing. Joan, it has been said that you wish to fight with me. I...
But as soon as she came here . . . she knew that she had lost what she wanted, that the life she had as a girl was the one she desired always, that she had no need of a prince, but only her dreams of...
We are, all of us, molded and remolded by those who have loved us, and though that love may pass, we remain none the less their work—a work that very likely they do not recognize, and which is never e...
The eyes those silent tongues of love. —CERVANTES
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