There was no single moment when I thought, Aha! What a great idea! Rather there was a slow and gradual accumulation of numerous small ideas.

My mother and I were like two continents moving slowly but inexorably apart; my father, the bridge builder, constantly extending the fragile edifice he had constructed to connect us.

I shall start at the beginning. Though of coarse, the beginning is never where you think it is.

She was a do-gooder, which means that all the ill she did, she did without realizing it.

She could not read a book for fear of the feelings she might find in it.

One gets so used to one's own horrors, one forgets how they must seem to other people.

A birth is not really a beginning. Our lives at the start are not really our own but only the continuation of someone else's story.