I only really understand myself, what I'm really thinking and feelings, when I've talked it over with my circle of female friends. When days go by without that connection, I feel like a radio playing in an empty room.

If you want to write what the world is about, you have to write details...real life is in the dishes. Real life is pushing strollers up the street, folding T-shirts, the alarm clock going off early and you dropping into bed exhausted every night. That's real life.

Figuring out who you are is the whole point of the human experience.

What had I expected of the first child? Everything. Rocket scientist. Neurosurgeon. Designated hitter. We talked wisely at cocktail parties about the sad mistake our mothers had made in pinning all their hopes and dreams on us. We were full of it.

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

Fashions in bigotry come and go. The right thing lasts.

I think there are some stories that need to be told by a specific person as opposed to in the third person.