I always imagined that having a baby is something that I'm going to keep in a private place, but maybe my curse is that all I'm going to want to do is tell everybody about what my birth process was like and what my children's nightmares are.

I know that when I am dying, looking back, it will be women that I regret having argued with, women I sought to impress, to understand, was tortured by. Women I wish to see again, to see them smile and laugh and say, It was all as it should have been.

Katherine Heiny's work does something magical: elevates the mundane so that it has the stakes of a mystery novel, gives women's interior lives the gravity they so richly deserve -- and makes you laugh along the way.

All my freakouts have been pretty private and directed at family pets and/or people I have been dating for too short a time to freak out at in that way.

No one wants to see a tattoo on a stomach.

It's almost like when you're young, your friends take on the romance role, and then guys take on the role of your friends later.

I hate to be the person that's like, "We're doing something that's never been done before."