Amy Tan

"It's not that we had no heart or eyes for pain. We were all afraid. We all had our miseries. But to despair was to wish back for something already lost.

This was the kind of pain so terrible that a little child should never remember it. But it is still in my skin's memory. I cried out loud only a little, because soon my flesh began to burst inside and out and cut off my breathing air.

Of course, now I know the tree-trunk lady was the old village matchmaker, and the other was Huang Taitai, the mother of the boy I would be forced to marry.

"It's no use," my mother would say. "We have made a contract. It cannot be broken." And I would cry even harder.

I wondered why my destiny had been decided, why I should have an unhappy life so someone else could have a happy one.

What is true about a person? Would I change in the same way the river changes color but still be the same person?

I was surprised at what I saw. I had on a beautiful red dress, but what I saw was even more valuable. I was strong. I was pure. I had genuine thoughts inside that no one could see, that no one could ever take away from me. I was like the wind.

He had no desire for me, but it was his fear that made me think he had no desire for any woman. He was like a little boy who had never grown up

"Bad wife!" she cried. "If you refuse to sleep with my son, I refuse to feed you or clothe you." So that's how I knew what my husband had said to avoid his mother's anger. I was also boiling with anger, but I said nothing, remembering my promise to my parents to be an obedient wife.

Everyone must dream. We dream to give ourselves hope. To stop dreaming—well, that’s like saying you can never change your fate.