“Nothing Personal? You've harrassed my mother, stolen my car, and now you're telling people I've gotten you pregnant! In my opinion, getting someone pregnant is pretty fucking personal! Jesus, isn't it enough I'm accused of murder? What are you the bounty hunter from hell?”

“Of course I can do this. I'm pregnant, not brain-damaged. My condition doesn't change my personality.”

“What the fuck? My little girl is pregnant and no one fucking told me?”

“I'm a survivor. I was thinking about what you said, and you're absolutely right - I have to let go to continue. This devastating news is not going to slow me down. I'm my own person. I always have been. I've never believed in those people who blame everything on their parents - you know, I'm a fuck-up because my father was a fuck-up. Or I'm a drunk because my mother was an alcoholic. So my father was a hit man? Maybe. So he murdered my mother? Maybe. I don't know any of these things for a fact. But I'm accepting them, and I'm beginning to realize they're not part of who I am.”

“When I’m asked today what someone might have said to get me to change my mind about having either abortion, I tell them it would be this: ‘What do you think would disappoint your parents most? To find out that you’d gotten pregnant, or to learn that you had taken the life of their grandchild?”

“Mom, I have to tell you something,”...... “Oh my God, you’re pregnant.”