The First Sentence Of A Book Is

She Has Given Birth To Vagabonds. She Is The Keeper Of All These Names And Numbers Now, Numbers She Once Knew By Heart, Numbers And Addresses Her Children No Longer Remember.

I Don't Know Why, But The Older I Get The More Interested I Get In My Parents' Marriage. And It's Interesting To Be Married Yourself, Too, Because There Is An Inevitable Comparison.

The First Sentence Of A Book Is A Handshake, Perhaps An Embrace.

Pet Names Are A Persistant Remnant Of Childhood, A Reminder That Life Is Not Always So Serious, So Formal, So Complicated. They Are A Reminder, Too, That One Is Not All Things To All People.

There Were Times Ruma Felt Closer To Her Mother In Death Than She Had In Life, An Intimacy Born Simply Of Thinking Of Her So Often, Of Missing Her. But She Knew That This Was An Illusion, A Mirage, And That The Distance Between Them Was Now Infinite, Unyielding.