Grief Is In Two Parts. The First

Decay Is Quiet But Ghastly, Explosion Is Dramatic And Dreadful. There's Not Much To Choose Between The Two Of Them In Reality, And Most Of Our Lives Have Sufficient Of Both.

We Flashed Our Feathers When The Feathers Were Fit To Be Flashed, And Now, In Drearier Days, Many Stay Indoors.

People Always Think Their World Is Coming To An End If They're Exposed, And Of Course It Isn't Coming To An End; It Goes Right On Exactly The Way It Always Was.

Most Of Us Don't Have Mothers Who Blazed A Trail For Us--at Least, Not All The Way. Coming Of Age Before Or During The Inception Of The Women's Movement, Whether As Working Parents Or Homemakers, Whether Married Or Divorced, Our Mothers Faced Conundrums--what Should They Be? How Should They Act?--that Became Our Uncertainties.

I Am Not A Perfect Friend, And It Is Impossible Not To Rebuff Or Be Rebuffed If You Move About The World.