So tell me gentleman, tell me the time and place where it was easy to be a woman.

How remarkable we are in our ability to hide things from ourselves - our conscious minds only a small portion of our actual minds, jellyfish floating on a vast dark sea of knowing and deciding.

It may be a childish torment, but we do not get to choose our demons.

For me, the historical and genealogical library is the one I use. I'm working on, I'll say, it's a time travel novel. I haven't written very much of it. That's the dirty secret of the Cullman center: The writers don't write their fiction there, they just do their research.

Despite all their fears, we ask very little of the ones who never loved us. We do not ask for sympathy or pain or compassion. We simply want to know why.

Does love always form, like a pearl, around the hardened bits of life?

When you were a little girl, Madam.....was this the woman you dreamed of becoming?