San Francisco is poetry. Even the hills rhyme.

Thanks to my son, I've learned to laugh at myself. Laughter has been my saving grace.

Everyone brings their own perceptions when reading a book about a real person. At the end they will take away whatever they wish.

Nature has a way of deadening us to traumatic events, until we're ready to deal with it. And once you do, it's a volcanic reaction.

I've been poor and neglected, in the middle and cherished, then rich and miserable and back to the middle and now happy. I've lived it all.

San Francisco is poetry. Even the hills rhyme.

My mother was the tough-as-nails disciplinarian who showed very little to no emotion. My father, on the other hand, was a study in contradiction. He was the fire, hell, and brimstone preacher, while also being incredibly gentle and forward thinking. I identify with him a lot.