New York is a wonderful place to be up, an awful place to be down.

But you cannot expect every writer to dwell on human suffering. I think my books do deal with grave issues. People who say they are too positive probably havent read them.

The previously unloved may find it hard to believe that they are now loved; that is such a miracle, they feel; such a miracle.

Lou knew that joy unshared was a halved emotion, just as sadness and loss, when borne alone, were often doubled.

There are many women whose lives would be immeasurably improved by widowhood, but one should not always point that out.

Regular maps have few surprises: their contour lines reveal where the Andes are, and are reasonably clear. More precious, though, are the unpublished maps we make ourselves, of our city, our place, our daily world, our life; those maps of our private world we use every day; here I was happy, in that place I left my coat behind after a party, that is where I met my love; I cried there once, I was heartsore; but felt better round the corner..., things of that sort, our personal memories, that make the private tapestry of our lives.

To lose a child ... was something that could end one's world. One could never get back to how it was before. The stars went out. The moon disappeared. The birds became silent.