“I know you know the tale of Baby JuneYou know the way she could deliver a tuneShe was a killer in a petticoatA little bit of everyone you adore...And if your baby let you down at night,Well Baby June would make it up alrightAnd I was never happierThan in the arms and charms of her”

“The ocean tosses up a thousand arms to embrace the storm that falls across her like a drunken sailor. His thunder slaps her thighs, his lighting piercing her waters.They pound me between the hips and I begin to panic, knowing their passion will destroy me.”

“Charlie had Sophie strapped to his chest like a terrorist baby bomb when he came down the back steps. She had just gotten to the point where she could hold up her head, so he had strapped her in face-out so she could look around. The way her arms and legs waved around as Charlie walked, she looked as if she was skydiving and using a skinny nerd as a parachute.”

“When they are away, you will often look for the baby doll, but it is not always there, where it is supposed to be, where you left it. Sometimes The Baby moves it, or she takes it with her, and you have to settle for some other toy. You bring it into the living room and set it between your paws as you sleep. It helps you believe that one day you might be a real mother.”

“Her rage flopped awkwardly away like a duck. She felt as she had when her cold, fierce parents had at last grown sick and old, stick-boned and saggy, protected by infirmity the way cuteness protected a baby, or should, it should protect a baby, and she had been left with her rage--vestigial, girlhood rage--inappropriate and intact. She would hug her parents good-bye, the gentle, emptied sacks of them, and think Where did you go?”

“Rockabye Baby, in the treetopDont you know a treetopis no safe place to rock?And who put you up there,and your cradle too?Baby,I think someone down herehas got it in for you!”

“The Holy Mother has many faces, but you know it's her from her blue cloak. She is said to be the spirit in all women." "Look, here she is naked and the baby Jesus has wings, " said Lucien."That is not the Holy Mother, that's Venus and that's not Jesus, that is Cupid, the Roman god of love.""Wouldn't she have the spirit of the Holy Mother as well?""No, she is a pagan myth.""What about Maman? Is the spirit of the Holy Mother in her?""No, Lucien, your mother is also a pagan myth. Come, look at these paintings of wrestlers.”