“Foretold through memories I remember what dangers I was warned of if lived by ways of sinning. That by living a fruitful life with an open mind to love all people would bring me to a place of peaceful tranquility. I wonder if these are all lies. All of them.”

“All my life I have lied. I lied to escape, I lied to be loved, I lied for placement and power; I lied to lie. It was a way of living; lies are life's almost-anagram.”

“There's something about houses that intrigues me. I mean, they're the place where families spend all their time together, making the house filled with love, life, and laughter. I always look at houses and wonder what's going on inside. Without the people who lived in them, they're just a shell, but once they're filled, they become sacred ground, the place where memories are made.”

“Love is a place & through this place of love move (with brightness of peace) all places yes is a world & in this world of yes live (skillfully curled) all worlds”

“I love the cultural and intellectual stimulation of living in a city, but I also want the beauty and tranquility of the country where I can imagine my love stories and bring them to life on paper.”

“A word of warning here. The events as you remember them will never be the same in your memory once you have turned them into a memoir. For years I have worried that if I turn all of my life into literature, I won't have any real life left - just stories about it. And it is a realistic concern: it does happen like that. I am no longer sure I remember how it felt to be twenty and living in Spain after my parents died; my book about it stands now between me and my memories. When I try to think about that time, what comes to mind most readily is what I wrote.”