When my mother left her second husband, she wrote her autobiography and presented it to him for his approval.

My mother turned into a professional widow. She couldn't understand why I wanted to be an engineer; she thought I should be a chicken farmer.

There is probably no oral society that fails to mark the spatial distinction of left and right, peculiar as this distinction may be.

A man's face is his autobiography. A woman's face is her work of fiction.

Harpo, she's a lovely person. She deserves a good husband. Marry her before she finds one.

She bit my bodyguard. She bit him in the stomach.