Through college she had been a feminist—basically: she shaved her legs, but just not often enough, she liked to say.

This lunge at moral fastidiousness was something she'd noticed a lot in people around here. They were not good people. They were not kind. But they recycled their newspapers!

The night before, a whole day could have shape and design. But when it was upon you, it could vanish tragically to air.

Marriage, she felt, was a fine arrangement generally, except that one never got it generally. One got it very, very specifically.

It was true. Men could be with whomever they pleased. But women had to date better, kinder, richer, and bright, bright, bright, or else people got embarrassed.

Let's make our own way, ' says the Mother, 'and not in this boat.

If there is a god, or hundreds of them, I hope they will forgive me for the harm I may have inflicted on you by telling you exactly what happened.

Gratitude is an appreciation of life.

Afflictions are but the shadow of His wings.

Nothing is necessitated whose opposite is possible.

Anyone who doesn't believe in miracles is not a realist.

I see children, all children, as humanity's most precious resource, because it will be to them that the care of the planet will always be left.

Throwing stones is the birthright and duty of anyone subject to foreign rule. Throwing stones is an action as well as a metaphor of resistance.

When all hopes are lost, only then does reality acquire that sharp focus that defines who we are and what we have become.

Writing is hustling of another kind.

We cannot build foundations of a state without rule of law.