Friends love misery, in fact. Sometimes, especially if we are too lucky or too successful or too pretty, our misery is the only thing that endears us to our friends.

I want you. I want you. I want you. Anything to avoid saying: I love you.

That was probably the mistake of my generation, that we thought that having sex with anyone would be intimate and it wasn't.

I am thinking of the onion again. . . . Not self-righteous like the proletarian potato, nor a siren like the apple. No show-off like the banana. But a modest, self-effacing vegetable, questioning, introspective, peeling itself away, or merely radiating halos like ripples.

I think a lot of people, when they read about a woman who acknowledges her sexuality and her feelings, get really scared. They say they want to be fearless, but in reality they're terrified. If they acknowledge their deepest feelings, they might have to change their lives.

Murky language means someone wants to pick your pocket.

Being a daughter is only half the equation; bearing one is the other.