[On writing her first poem at age eight:] An ode to my dead mother and father, who were both alive and pretty pissed off.

Strength is the capacity to break a chocolate bar into four pieces with your bare hands - and then eat just one of the pieces.

Losing is the price we pay for living. It is also the source of much of our growth and gain.

Living with golden fantasies of an endlessly nurtured infancy can be a neurotic refusal to grow up.

We cannot love others as others unless we possess suficient self-love, a love we learn from being loved in infancy.

Love is the same as like except you feel sexier.

Not listening is probably the commonest unkindness of married life, and one that creates - more devastatingly than an eternity of forgotten birthdays and misguided Christmas gifts - an atmosphere of not loving and not caring.