But oh my dear, I am tired of being Alice in Wonderland. Does it sound ungrateful? It is. Only I do get tired. 
Why were there so many barriers between us, always? Barriers of clothing, of etiquette, of time and age and reason. 
Despite all that I had taught, I had learned nothing about the world. 
At times I couldn't recognize my own words, because I was still so often afraid in my life. 
For I can think of no fate drearier than sitting at home ... for the rest of my life, watching all of you go off one by one. 
Would my son love me, when he was old enough to know what love meant?p 181
Why, then, did I always feel as if his happiness was my responsibility? It wasn't fair for him to burden me with that. It had never been fair. 
Still, we all found it easier to love and admire him when he was gone. The 
Marriage breeds its own special brand of loneliness, and it's far more cruel. You miss more, because you've known more. 
It was her style, that indefinable asset. It was said that the others had style but Babe was style. 
There is always so much talk about the sins of the fathers but it is the sins of the mothers that are the most difficult to avoid repeating. 
Never would I allow my size to define me. Instead I would define it. 
I knew that no matter what I said, it would not be enough; when you're on the other side of the looking glass, nothing is as it seems. 
The moment before he started to suspect that there were punishments for those who dared to dream so big, to fly so high. 
What need was there for words, when we had just shared the sky? 
I suppose at some point, we all have to decide which memories - real or otherwise - to hold on to, and which ones to let go. 
Never before had I imagined leaving home, but that wasn't because of lack of desire, only lack of possibility. 
All his smiles were just a little sad around the edges, as if he knew happiness never could last very long 
Now there were no more stories to tell, to soothe, to comfort, to draw strangers close together; to link like hearts and minds. 
Were we women always destined to appear as we were not, as long as we were standing next to our husbands? 
I like to imagine the "what ifs" of history. 
Wonderland was all we had in common, after all; Wonderland was what was denied the two of us. I had denied him his; he had denied me mine. 