Parenthood, Like Death, Is An Event For

The 'good' Mother, With Her Fixed Smile, Her Rigidity, Her Goody-goody Outlook, Her Obsession With Unnecessary Hygiene, Is In Fact A Fool. It Is The 'bad' Mother, Unafraid Of A Joke And A Glass Of Wine, Richly Self-expressive, Scornful Of Suburban Values, Who Is, In Reality, Good.

Hope Is Like One Of Those Orchids That Grows Around Toxic Waste: Lovely In Itself - And An Assertion, If You Like, Of Indefatigable Good - But A Sure Sign That Something Nasty Lies Underneath.

I Have Absolutely No Concept Of Work, Except For University. But I Like To Talk To People A Lot About Their Jobs.

As It Stands, Motherhood Is A Sort Of Wilderness Through Which Each Woman Hacks Her Way, Part Martyr, Part Pioneer; A Turn Of Events From Which Some Women Derive Feelings Of Heroism, While Others Experience A Sense Of Exile From The World They Knew.

I Don't Really Believe In Stories, Only In The People Who Tell Them.