My stepfather, John O'Hara, was the goodest man there was. He was not a man of many words, but of carefully chosen ones. He was the one parent who didn't try to fix me. One night I sat on his lap in his chair by the wood stove, sobbing. He just held me quietly and then asked only, "What does it feel like?" It was the first time I was prompted to articulate it. I thought about it, then said, "I feel homesick." That still feels like the most accurate description - I felt homesick, but I was home.

When I was 17, I read a profile of Carol Leifer. Since then, I wanted to be her. I still want to be her.

One of the greatest things my therapist said to me ... and it really blew my mind in the greatest way, he just said, "Look in the mirror less."

I'm all sentimental. I've probably been ruined by romantic movies, but I really do believe in love. I've experienced it, I've had it, so I know it's real.

I still have highs and lows, maybe I don't cry salty tears as much.

People say I'm a nice girl saying terrible things. I tend to say the opposite of what I think. You hope that the absolute power of that transcends, and reaches the audience.

Since so many people these days don't seem to start their families until around age forty, I predict there will be less child beating, but more slipped disks from lifting babies out of cribs. Even the father of advanced age who's not inclined to spare the rod is likely to suffer more than his victim: The first punch he throws might well be the last straw for his rotator cuff, reducing his disciplinary options to mere verbal abuse and napping.