Ann Goldstein

The background had been made from an immense sheet of royal-blue cardboard sprinkled with perhaps two hundred stars cut out of silver and gold paper, and attached with glue.

So it was probably the experience of the diary and its contradictions that transformed me into a fiction writer. In the invented stories, I felt that I was—I and my truths—a little safer

Beliefs aren’t good or bad; they serve only to bring order, at least momentarily, to our anguish