Women are always complaining about men's fascination with breasts. But what if men were absolutely indifferent to breasts? What would women do then with these things that serve one function once or twice in a lifetime, and the rest of the time are just in the way?

Part of life is a quest to find that one essential person who will understand our story. But we choose wrongly so often. Over the ensuing years that person we thought understood us best ends up regarding us with pity, indifference, or active dislike. Those who truly care can be divided into two categories: those who understand us, and those who forgive our worst sins. Rarely do we find someone capable of both.

I forgive nothing. If you stole my orange crayon in the fifth grade, you're still on my hit list, buddy.

Even the handsomest men do not have the same momentary effect on the world as a truly beautiful woman does.

Just write about what bites you and damn the rest.

Fear pounds on the door to our heart demanding to be let in. Joy is modest and often comes into our lives like a shy person entering a room; it can take a while to even notice it's there.

Kids own nothing. Everything is either promised, borrowed, longed for or exaggerated.