You lay your hand against his skin and just rib his back. Blow into his ear. Press that baby up against your own skin and walk outside with him, where the night air will sourround him, and moonlight fall on… — Joyce Maynard Copy Share Image
No, I said. I didn't remember that. There was so much to remember, sometimes the best thing was to forget. — Joyce Maynard Copy Share Image
“I tried to think of what my father would tell me. 'Don't let any boy give you shit.' But he'd never said how we… — Joyce Maynard Copy Share Image
“It’s like life: sometimes the littlest thing turns out to be the most important.” — Joyce Maynard Copy Share Image
Growing up in the fifties and sixties, I can only remember knowing one child, ever, whose parents got a divorce, and hardly any whose… — Joyce Maynard Copy Share Image
I believe every one of us possesses a fundamental right to tell our own story. — Joyce Maynard Copy Share Image
I have no doubt that over the years my children will find plenty of things about me to criticize. But something tells me that… — Joyce Maynard Copy Share Image
I believed my story would be helpful to young women my daughter's age, who are still in the process of forming themselves as women,… — Joyce Maynard Copy Share Image
Not only did I avoid speaking of Salinger; I resisted thinking about him. I did not reread his letters to me. The experience had… — Joyce Maynard Copy Share Image
