The way my parents and I believed and disbelieved in each other when I was little, the way we created and confused, encouraged and thwarted, loved and misloved each other, is a sad story.

… turned to the buxomer, nakeder Mimi. 'I was just telling your friend. You know what they sayin New York?' 'No,' said Margaret ...

You want to chate me! said Teddy, angrily.

[…] I beheld, in momentary sun, / One of thy hills gleam bright and bosomy, / Just like that orb of orbs, a human one, / Let forth by chance upon a lover's eye.