When we were that young we invented the world, no one could tell us a thing.

Think for a minute, darling: in fairy tales it's always the children who have the fine adventures. The mothers have to stay at home and wait for the children to fly in the window.

I sit quietly and think about my mom. It's funny how memory erodes, If all I had to work from were my childhood memories, my knowledge of my mother would be faded and soft, with a few sharp memories standing out.

I think about my mother singing after lunch on a Summer afternoon, twirling in blue dress across the floor of her dressing room

one of the best and the most painful things about time traveling has been the opportunity to see my mother alive.

A sister is a little bit of childhood that can never be lost.