Maybe this is who I really am. Not a loner, exactly. But someone who can be alone.
After all, this is America, and you can swap out the parts of yourself that don't work. You can rebuild yourself piece by piece.
Michigan, with its delicious American name. How lucky one must be to live there.
In America, the distance between wanting something and having it delivered to your living room is not terribly great.
The truth is this: The rich will rule even at a place like Oberlin, where their kind is technically forbidden. They will simply invert the power structure to suit their needs. They will come out on top no matter what. Stuyvesant was hard but hopeful;...
I wonder what children whose parents have money think about in their spare time.
Every moment I have ever experienced as a child is as important as every moment I am experiencing now, or will experience ever. I guess what I'm saying is that not everybody should have children.
As every so-called creative spirit soon learns, the rest of the world doesn't particularly give a damn.
I want to be loved so badly, it verges on mild insanity.
You are not what you want. You are what wants you back.
The world is harsh and inconsiderate, and you can rely only on your family.
I am scared of the photo studio. I am scared of the telephone. Scared of anything outside our apartment. Scared of the people in their big fur hats. Scared of the snow. Scared of the cold. Scared of the heat. Scared of the ceiling fan at which I woul...
There's something outrageously simple about extending yourself toward a goal the way a plant seeks the sun's rays or a gopher the crunch of easy soil beneath his paws, and then getting , sunshine or some prized tuber.
I am a kind of joke, but the question is: which kind? My job is to keep everyone guessing.
I write because there is nothing as joyful as writing, even when the writing is twisted and full of hate, the self-hate that makes writing not only possible but necessary. I hate myself, I hate the people around me, but what I crave is the fulfillmen...
I am born hungry. Ravenous. I want to eat the world, and I can never be satiated.
The simple trill of her laugh has not declined over the years; if anything it's been buffeted by her endless sorrows and disappointments.
She folds the pages of the books she reads when she wants to remember something important. Her favorite books are accordions, testaments to an endless search for meaning.
