What a different world it was when I first sailed for Europe in 1930, with my mother, sister, and brother to spend six months abroad.

that strange conflict in the American character: we pride ourselves on being the melting pot of the world but we insist on regarding most immigrants with suspicion.

A romantic, I think, picks the rose and is careless with the thorn.

I was fine when it came to cheering up others, not so fine with myself.

Day after day, I spent long afternoons in the talent pool, being told how to walk, how to talk, how to sit.

I approached everything, my job, my family, my romances, with intensity.

I have a role now that I think becomes me. I am a grandmother.