Wouldn't a laugh serve us better than to battle it out with our mortal souls?

None of the adults I knew ever touched in public, much less kneaded each others flesh.

He lives with his mother and sister in Brooklyn and next week he is bringing Mary Agnes Keely home-in the grand tradition. I expect a delicious kielbasa and a picture of Kosciuszko in the front room.

Even when I was a grown woman, he [Father] would leave me on the edge of hysteria in all our arguments: though I married and lived as far as I could spiritually from Bridgeport, he reduced me in a matter of hours to a wriggling child, pleading to go free.

I find those sophisticated girls were wrong-it was much easier to be brittle at the age of twenty when wisdom is easily come by.

The part we play is not as we want it, but as we are made-with the genitals God gave us.

His story is the usual one of adolescence: endless tortures and temptations, insatiable desires, a satisfying rebellion and at rare moments an exhilarating freedom.

Acceptance is the word we must substitute for dependence in dealing with the aged. Their acceptance of help, ours of their need.