Absence makes the heart grow frozen, not fonder.

Telling a lie is called wrong. Telling the truth is called right. Except when telling the truth is called bad manners and telling a lie is called polite.

The need to become a separate self is as urgent as the yearning to merge forever. And as long as we, not our mother, initiate parting, and as long as our mother remains reliably there, it seems possible to risk, and even to revel in, standing alone.

Our father presents an optional set of rhythms and responses for us to connect to. As a second home base, he makes it safer to roam. With him as an ally--a love--it is safer, too, to show that we're mad when we're mad at our mother. We can hate and not be abandoned, hate and still love.

Passionate investment leaves us vulnerable to loss. And sometimes, no matter how clever we are, we must lose.

Because we believe ourselves to be better parents than our parents, we expect to produce better children than they produced.

I could tell it was going to be a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.