I Am A Better Person When I

He Looks At You Like You're Someone He's Never Met Before, Much Less Someone He Once Loved With High Passion. The Irony Is, You Can Hardly Blame Him. I Mean, Check Yourself Out. You're A Pathetic Mess, Unrecognizable Even To Your Own Eyes.

I Won The Argument Against The Knife That Night, But Barely. I Had Some Other Good Ideas Around That Time--about How Jumping Off A Building Or Blowing My Brains Out With A Gun Might Stop The Suffering. But Something About Spending A Night With A Knife In My Hand Did It. The Next Morning I Called My Friend Susan As The Sun Came Up, Begged Her To Help Me. I Don't Think A Woman In The Whole History Of My Family Had Ever Done That Before, Had Ever Sat In The Middle Of The Road Like That And Said, In The Middle Of Her Life, "i Cannot Walk Another Step Further--somebody Has To Help Me.

In The Modern Industrialized Western World, Where I Come From, The Person Whom You Choose To Marry Is Perhaps The Single Most Vivid Representation Of Your Own Personality. Your Spouse Becomes The Most Gleaming Possible Mirror Through Which Your Emotional Individualism Is Reflected Back To The World. There Is No Choice More Intensely Personal After All, Than Whom You Choose To Marry; That Choice Tells Us, To A Large Extent, Who You Are.

We Must Take Care Of Our Families Wherever We Find Them.

I Don't Think You Can Say That Feminism Has Made Women Critical Of Marriage Because Women Have Been Critical Of Marriage For Centuries.