Go for broke. Always try and do too much. Dispense with safety nets. Take a deep breath before you begin talking. Aim for the stars. Keep grinning. Be bloody-minded. Argue with the world. And never forget that writing is as close as we get to keeping a hold on the thousand and one things--childhood, certainties, cities, doubts, dreams, instants, phrases, parents, loves--that go on slipping , like sand, through our fingers.
My parents gave me the gift of irreligion, of growing up without bothering to ask people what gods they held dear, assuming that in fact, like my parents, they weren't interested in gods, and that this uninterest was 'normal.' You may argue that the gift was a poisoned chalice, but even if so, that's a cup from which I'd happily drink again.
I seem to have fallen for women with missing parents. Goodness knows what it signifies.
When you have children, your perspective on the parent-child relationship alters.
There is no magic on earth strong enough to wipe out the legacies of one's parents.
If my child had prejudice in his head, I'd be ashamed. I would see it as my failure as a parent.
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