When people ask what I write about, that's what I tell them: 'The drama of human relationships.' I'm not even close to running out of material.

Those who rhapsodize about the ease and joy of childhood have perhaps forgotten what it's like to be 12 years old.

The real drug, I came to believe, was love.

[On home births:] In a house where there had been three people, there were now four, although no one had come in the door.

The silence was part of the story I wanted to tell.

I continued to protect him with my silence.

Although Salinger had long since cut me out of his life completely and made it plain that he had nothing but contempt for me, the thought of becoming the object of his wrath was more than I felt ready to take on.