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

No, I said. I didn't remember that. There was so much to remember, sometimes the best thing was to forget.

A good home must be made, not bought. In the end, it's not track lighting or a sun room that brings light into a kitchen.

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

Many women my age have known the experience of giving up crucial parts of themselves to please the man they love.

As for me, I've chosen to follow a simple course: Come clean. And wherever possible, live your life in a way that won't leave you tempted to lie. Failing that, I'd rather be disliked for who I truly am than loved for who I am not. So, I tell my story. I write it down. I even publish it. Sometimes this is a humbling experience. Sometimes it's embarrassing. But I haul around no terrible secrets.

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