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Does everything in this life begin and end with Judy Blume? Perhaps.

Hey, don't knock Judy Blume. Without her, my younger self would never have been able to decode the random acts of madness perpetrated by the fascinating creature known as the teenage girl.

Yeah, I read Judy Blume. My mother didn't like that, but I read it anyhow.

Many of Judy Blume's books - which I devoured when I was growing up and where I found characters that were believable because they were a lot like me - caused considerable consternation when they were first published, but now they're widely accepted as an essential part of the children's literary canon.

We didn't know anything about Judy Murray until we met her, but once we got to know her, we found she was an absolute scream.

Judy Blume especially sort of broke the boundaries of what is appropriate and what should be written about - what teenagers are actually doing.

The artist must be in his work as God is in creation, invisible and all-powerful; one must sense him everywhere but never see him.

Many of the writers I admire - Melville, Dickinson, Kafka - were virtually invisible during their lifetimes. Art, I think, often has to dance around in the void.

Although Dorothy in Blue Velvet was humiliated and hurt by men, basically I could react to how she felt.