The same ten minutes that magazines urge me to use for sit-ups and triceps dips, I used for sobbing.

You transition as a mother from literally just pulling a booger out of that person's nose whenever you see one until at some point they assert: "No, I'm a person. You can't fix my underpants on the subway."

Politics and prostitution have to be the only jobs where inexperience is considered a virtue.

This worked out perfectly for me in college, because what nineteen-year-old Virginia boy doesn't want a wide-hipped, sarcastic Greek girl with short hair that's permed on top? What's that you say? None of them want that? You are correct.

A willingness to drop your ego and let yourself look foolish. You almost have to enjoy looking vulnerable. You'd be surprised how many people don't want to do that.

You can fix it as soon as you get up - you brush and use mouthwash - but there’s something about knowing you woke up with hot-mothball mouth that makes you feel old. I think God designed our mouths to die first to help us slowly transition to the grave.

Life is improvisation. All of those [improv] classes were like church to me. The training had seeped into me and changed who I am.