The Kind Of Power Mothers Have Is

Love Is Desire Sustained By Unfulfilment.

There Is A Striking Resemblance Between The Act Of Love And The Ministrations Of A Torturer.

The Only Time I Ever Iron The Sheets Or Make Meringues Is When There Is An ... Urgent Deadline In The Offing.

Our Fingernails Match Our Toenails, Match Our Lipstick Match Our Rouge...the Habit Of Applying Warpaint Outlasts The Battle.

As For My Father, Few Souls Are Less Troubled. He Can Be Simply Pleased With Us, Pleased That We Exist, And, From The Vantage Point Of His Wondrously Serene Old Age, He Contemplates Our Lives Almost As If They Were Books He Can Dip Into Whenever He Wants. His Back Pages, Perhaps.