I love the way dates in a text make us think that truth will follow.

It would seem that, through touch, through kissing, we might have gouged a worm-size channel through which crucial information could pass, sublingual messages, the kind of pre-verbal intimacy that should flow with thunderous force between the bodies of people so bonded. We should have been able to bypass a mere inability to exchange language.

I love to sell, to visualize something for someone and make them see it.

I'm attracted to how fraught the parent-child relationship is, swerving so easily between love and hostility, with almost no plausible way to end, unless someone dies.

I love the 'Mildred Pierce' miniseries.

The issue that all of us face is that alumni love to have the institution frozen in amber. The truth of the matter is that for an institution to survive, it has to grow, to look at the world as it is rather than how they want it to be.