If I’d done the discovery before I wrote the book, then there would be nothing to discover. It would feel dutiful instead of exciting.

I think what can be most shameful or embarrassing is when our bodies broadcast a secret we’d prefer no one to know. This is why I hate rashes, in particular face rashes.

The sensation felt like spinning too fast on a merry-go-round. Each fraction of a second her eyes focused on a new face in a crowd. Within seconds the face was gone, whisked to a blur, replaced by another face that would just as soon be lost.

I really did for a few weeks think, I’m in pain because the world needs me to save it. Which is so ridiculous and egotistical.

I go through life now reminding myself to remember something, and I do this while that something is happening. I’ll be experiencing a moment and I’ll say to myself, “Remember this!” Otherwise my whole life just blurs by.

I want the plot to be as complicated as possible. Usually I’ll write all the way through to an end, and then I go back and try to fix the ending so that it makes sense. I don’t think out the plot ahead of time.

When you are expending much energy on someone else’s demise, it’s like you weaken your psychic immune system.

If, at some future point, my face collapses around my eyes, I’d probably do something about it. My eyes are where I live, and if people couldn’t see them, no one would know me.

In the midst of such uncertainty, I cling not to what I know, but what I feel.

I think female-female relationships interest me so much more because they’re so encoded. There is kind of a psychic element that happens within groups of women. Whenever I hang out with my female friends, I feel like context is never needed.