He Insisted On A Single Trade Secret:

I'm A Romantic; You Have To Be To Marry Four Times.

Delia's Arms Were Inscribed With A Grid Of Self- Inflicted Wounds, An Intricate Text Of Self-loathing

I'd Like To Have The Kind Of House Someday Where A Carousel Horse Wouldn't Be Out Of Place In The Living Room.

I Envy Those Writers Who Outline Their Novels, Who Know Where They're Going. But I Find Writing Is A Process Of Discovery.

Everything Becomes Symbol And Irony When You've Been Betrayed