In my godless household, poems were the closest we came to sacred speech -- the only prayers said.

I get about five memoirs per week in my mailbox, and few of them inspire anything but a desire to pick up the channel changer.

The shreiking fight or the out-of-character insult endures forever, while the daily sweetness dissolves like sugar in water.

I get so lonely sometimes, I could put a box on my head and mail myself to a stranger.

It turned out to be impossible for me to 'run away' in the sense other American teenagers did. Any movement at all was taken for progress in my family.

That’s what’s so gorgeous about humanity. It doesn’t matter how bleak our daily lives are, we still fight for the light. I think that’s our divinity. We lean into love, even in the most hideous circumstances. We manage to hope.

Having a great dad probably permitted me to pal around with guys in a way that some women don't.