He was in my hair, my eyes, my fingers, my heart. I day-dreamed about what he was doing, thinking, seeing, smelling, feeling. I could not eat for thoughts of him.

Our words had to be circumspect. We could not write anything too negative about our circumstances. This was tricky, since the very form of a married woman's letter needed to include the usual complaints -- that we were pathetic, powerless, worked to the bone, homesick, and sad. We were supposed to speak directly about our feelings without appearing ungrateful, no-account, or unfilial.

Don't ever feel that you have to hide who you are. Nothing good ever comes from keeping secrets like that.

Parents die, daughters grow up and marry out, but sisters are for life.

Gone were my girlish ideas about romantic love and my later ideas about sexual love. From Yi, I learned to appreciate deep-heart love. Peony in Love

I am an eighth Chinese, and I come from a large Chinese-American family in Los Angeles.

My hardcover sales are 17% down in books but up 400% in electronics.