Writers read. Writers read promiscuously, aggressively and relentlessly.
Not only do women hold up half the sky; we do it while carrying a 500-pound purse.
From age sixteen to age twenty, a woman’s body is a temple. From twenty-one to forty-five, it’s an amusement park. From forty-five on, it’s a terrarium.
There are now skin products supposedly created with 24-karat gold extract. I guess if financial times got really tough, you could always pawn your own head.
It’s only when you’re at the bottom of the ladder that you ascend.
Words can be as irrevocable as an action. They can cut as deeply as a surgeon’s scalpel.
When you enter your next relationship, you become the person you split up with.
I’ve been married for a long time and there are days when I still wonder, ‘Excuse me, but who is this man?
Fate gives us relatives for one reason: so that we have to learn how to deal with people we’d otherwise never know.
My therapist has helped me learn to understand that if you don’t unpack your own emotional baggage it’s no longer baggage – it’s deadweight.
Ever notice there are no clocks in stores? It’s like casinos; they don’t want you to know how much time you’ve spent dropping your quarters.
This year’s vintage is best enjoyed this year. Let’s begin.
If you ask a server for a seriously old wine in my neighborhood, they’ll look at you funny and then bring you a half-finished glass from somebody else’s table.
Like most women, I’ve spent far too much time shuffling around this mortal coil looking for non-horror-show toilets. Few of my male counterparts partake of this quest. Instead, with the cheerful insouciance of Labrador puppies, they regard the earth as their urinal.
Maybe it’s because I was the youngest or maybe it’s because I was girl, but I’ve spent much of my life expecting to be chastised for asking stupid questions.
Here’s the nice thing about being over 60: You know enough to know you don’t know everything, however much you’ve learned.
Increasingly political, assertive, articulate, and outspoken as we age, many of us become, paradoxically, the girls we were once: wild, hearty, courageous, and playful.
Since little-girlhood, we’re trained to find the Big Bad Wolf seductive.
But if you believe that your best years are behind you, you’ve guaranteed they are; I’m going to dance into that good night, with the oldies turned up loud.
While many things have changed, some things haven’t changed enough.
A stark sense of isolation encloses anyone who looks outward for validation.