A Mother's Hardest To Forgive. Life Is

Men Can't Be Trusted With Pruning Shears Any More Than They Can Be Trusted With The Grocery Money In A Delicatessen . . . They Are Like Boys With New Pocket Knives Who Will Not Stop Whittling.

If Childhood Is Still A State, It Is Now Chiefly A State Of Confusion.

Sisters Are Always Drying Their Hair. Locked Into Rooms, Alone, They Pose At The Mirror, Shoulders Bare, Trying This Way And That Their Hair, Or Fly Importunate Down The Stair To Answer The Telephone.

God Knows That A Mother Needs Fortitude And Courage And Tolerance And Flexibility And Patience And Firmness And Nearly Every Other Brave Aspect Of The Human Soul. But Because I Happen To Be A Parent Of Almost Fiercely Maternal Nature, I Praise Casualness. It Seems To Me The Rarest Of Virtues. It Is Useful Enough When Children Are Small. It Is Useful To The Point Of Necessity When They Are Adolescents.

The Human Animal Needs A Freedom Seldom Mentioned, Freedom From Intrusion. He Needs A Little Privacy As Much As He Wants Understanding Or Vitamins Or Exercise Or Praise.