I remember adolescence, the years of having the impulse control of a mousetrap, of being as private as a safe-deposit box.

In a democratic society, the only treason is silence.

Don't ever forget the words on a postcard that my father sent me last year: "If you win the rat race, you're still a rat.

There's some muscle group around your shoulders that seizes up during the perfection dance and doesn't let go until you are asleep, or alone. Or maybe it never really lets go at all.

There is a lot of talk now about metal detectors and gun control. Both are good things. But they are no more a solution than forks and spoons are a solution to world hunger.

Jane Austen may not be the best writer, but she certainly writes about the best people. And by that I mean people just like me.

I can't think of anything to write about except families. They are a metaphor for every other part of society.