“Writing for me is a kind of compulsion, so I don't think anyone could have made me do it, or prevented me from doing it.”

“I never could bear the idea of anyone's expecting something from me. Italways made me want to do just the opposite.”

“He pulled my chin up so that I would face him. "I know you deserve better than me. You think I don't know that? But if there was any woman made for me...it's you. I'll do whatever I have to do, Pidge. Do you hear me? I'll do anything.”

“I will write things, he was thinking. I will write something meaningful and wonderful someday. I can do that. And I'll dedicate it to you because you're the first person who ever made me think I could.”

“Write me what you're wearing! Is it warm? Write me how you lie! Do you lie there softly? Write me how you look! Is it still the same? Write me what you're missing! Is it my arm? Write me how you are! Have you been spared? Write me what they're doing! Do you have enough courage? Write me what you're doing! Is it good? Write me, who are you thinking of? Is it me? Freely, I've given you only my questions. And I hear the answers, how they fall. When you're tired, I can't carry it for you. If you're hungry, I have nothing for you to eat. And so now I leave the world No longer there, as if I've forgotten you.”

“I have no idea what I am doing but incompetence has never prevented me from plunging in with enthusiasm.”