Why were there so many barriers between us, always? Barriers of clothing, of etiquette, of time and age and reason.

There is always so much talk about the sins of the fathers but it is the sins of the mothers that are the most difficult to avoid repeating.

Never would I allow my size to define me. Instead I would define it.

I suppose at some point, we all have to decide which memories - real or otherwise - to hold on to, and which ones to let go.

I like to imagine the "what ifs" of history.

My head grew muddled with it all; the silly ways adults acted with one another, never saying what they meant, trusting in sighs and glances and distance to speak for them instead. How dangerous that was! How easy it must be to misinterpret a sigh or a look.

Unlike men, women got less sentimental as we aged, I was discovering.