It is terrible how much has been forgotten, which is why, I suppose, remembering seems a holy thing.

Since 1985, I have written about contemporary Jewish practice and the Jewish community.

The Sabbath is a weekly cathedral raised up in my dining room, in my family, in my heart.

I got nice rejections explaining that historical fiction was a difficult sell. But I kept trying.

Why did I not know that birth is the pinnacle where women discover the courage to become mothers?

The painful things seemed like knots on a beautiful necklace, necessary for keeping the beads in place.

The more a daughter knows the details of her mother's life [...] the stronger the daughter.

One of his tears fell in my mouth, where it became a blue sapphire, source of strength, source of strength and eternal hope.

I tell writers to keep reading, reading, reading. Read widely and deeply. And I tell them not to give up even after getting rejection letters. And only write what you love.

My husband, Jim, converted to Judaism just before our wedding.

One of my great secrets was knowing I had the power to make her smile.

We do not disappear without a trace. We leave a wake that never quite disappears, a gash in time that we so laboriously leave behind us.

Nothing dissects a man in public quite like golf.

Anyone who doesn't sing and dance at every opportunity is missing out on the joy of life.

In great pedigrees there are Governours and Chandlers.

Thought is matter as much as the floor, the wall, the telephone, are matter.

An answer is always on the stretch of road that is behind you. Only a question can point the way forward.

When you go out for drinks, tell people to bring in a news story that made them say "Oh my god." Talk about it.

There are people who are so full of common sense that they haven't the slightest cranny left for their own sense.

One siupreme fact which I have discovered is that it is not willpower, but fantasy and imagination that ceates. Imagination is the creative force. Imagination creates reality.

A living man is blind and drinks his drop. What matter if the ditches are impure? What matter if I live it all once more?