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

There is a theme that runs through my work, and that is: the toxic property of keeping secrets.

Growing up in the fifties and sixties, I can only remember knowing one child, ever, whose parents got a divorce, and hardly any whose mother "worked" at anything besides raising her children.

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

The painter who feels obligated to depict his subjects as uniformly beautiful or handsome and without flaws will fall short of making art.

The vehemence with which certain critics have chosen not simply to criticize what I've written, but to challenge my writing this story at all, speaks of what the book is about: fear of disapproval.

To share our stories is not only a worthwhile endeavor for the storyteller, but for those who hear our stories and feel less alone because of it.