Where I Came From, The Nights I

The Anger Of The Weak Never Goes Away, Professor, It Just Gets A Little Moldy. It Molds Like A Beautiful Blue Cheese In The Dark, Growing Stronger, And More Interesting. The Poor And The Weak Die With All Their Anger Intact And Probably Those Angers Go On Growing In The Dark Of The Grave Like The Hair And The Nails.

I Don't Think Writers Change The Past Any More Than Other People Do, Except In So Far As We May Mine Our Lives And Change Things For Fictional Use.

The Body Is Simple As A Turtle / And Straight As A Dog: / The Body Cannot Lie.

I Did Not Always Know I Would Be A Writer. Until I Had A Room Of My Own, I Did Not Write Much At All - No More Than Any Other Child Who Read A Lot Of Books. I Began To Write Fiction And Poetry When I First Had A Room That Was Truly My Own With A Door That Shut And Some Measure, However Fragile, Of Privacy.

If Sex Is A War, I Am A Conscientious Objector: I Will Not Play.