I wonder whether our adoption of Shrink-ese as a second language, the move from religious phrases of judgment to secular words of acceptance, hasn't also produced a moral lobotomy. In the reluctance, the aversion to being judgmental, are we disabled from making any judgments at all?

The central paradox of motherhood is that while our children become the absolute center of our lives, they must also push us backout in the world.... But motherhood that can narrow our lives can also broaden them. It can make us focus intensely on the moment and invest heavily in the future.

I regard this novel as a work without redeeming social value, unless it can be recycled as a cardboard box.

We owned what we learned back there; the experience and the growth are grafted into our lives.

Slowly we adjust, but only if we have to.

It is, I suppose, the business of grandparents to create memories and the relative of memories: traditions. We want to lodge moments, like snapshots, in the fleeting video of time.

Our 'mistakes' become our crucial parts, sometimes our best parts, of the lives we have made.