I wonder sometimes if the thoughts that flock my nightmares are abandoned memories coming home to roost.

Imagine what ideas are locked up in the hearts and minds of women who simply lack the tools to express them.

I was a mouse trapped in a corner, looking for a crack to flee through but despairing of finding one.

I was a candle that had never known a flame, and now that the flame was lit, I softened and glowed in a way I had not known was possible.

Because misfortune does not wait idly by until we are prepared for it.

You speak of love? Love is a sickness that causes men and women to do stupid things, the sorts of things that leave them sad and broken when the fever passes.

Being strong does not disqualify you from being beautiful.

Compelling fiction often obscures the humble truth.

The stories we tell ourselves have great power.