“. . . I do not tell you often enough, dear Mother, how very grateful I am that I am yours. It is a rare parent who would offer a child such latitude and understanding. It is an even rarer one who calls a daughter friend. I do love you, dear Mama.”

“Dear little Bog-Face,Why are you so cold?And why do you lie with your eyes shut?--You are not very old.I am a Child of this WorldAnd a Child of Grace,And Mother, I shall be glad when it is over,I am Bog-Face.”

“How can I expect readers to know who I am if I do not tell them about my family, my friends, the relationships in my life? Who am I if not where I fit in the world, where I fit in the lives of the people dear to me?”

“Do you have any idea how humiliated I am to be related to such a man, much less to have to call him father?""Take comfort. Perhaps your mother strayed.""Oh,dearly would I like to believe that!”

“Riddle me this - she is my daughter but I am not her father: who am I?I am a step parent. Ah, but I don't really believe in the term step-parent. I don't think the role exists. Not really. For either in the end you are either a child's parent or you are not. And blood does not have a lot do to with it.”

“I like not only to be loved, but also to be told that I am loved. I am not sure that you are of the same mind. But the realm of silence is large enough beyond the grave. This is the world of light and speech, and I shall take leave to tell you that you are very dear.”