My gratitude for good writing is unbounded; I’m grateful for it the way I’m grateful for the ocean.

I did not raise my son, Sam, to celebrate Mother's Day. I didn't want him to feel some obligation to buy me pricey lunches or flowers, some annual display of gratitude that you have to grit your teeth and endure.

One can never pay in gratitude; one can only pay "in kind" somewhere else in life.

Most of me was glad when my mother died. She was a handful, but not in a cute, festive way. More in a life-threatening way, that had caused me a long time ago to give up all hope of ever feeling good about having had her as a mother.

I don't have very sophisticated taste in music. I listen to a lot of folk music. I like reggae.

My mother's eyes were large and brown, like my son's, but unlike Sam's, they were always frantic, like a hummingbird who can't quite find the flower but keeps jabbing around.