The glass castle: a memoir

Some followed Mom around like stray dogs.

Poor old Venus didn't even make her own light, Dad said.

"Years from now, when all the junk they got is broken and long forgotten," Dad said, "you'll still have your stars."

"It's the Joshua tree's struggle that gives it its beauty."

Her long hair was streaked with gray, tangled and matted, and her eyes had sunk deep into their sockets, but still she reminded me of the mom she'd been when I was a kid, swan-diving off cliffs and painting in the desert and reading Shakespeare aloud.

To John, for convincing me that everyone who is interesting has a past.

We’re becoming a nation of sissies.”

She felt it was good for kids to do what they wanted because they learned a lot from their mistakes

And use your common sense

I started stealing matches from Dad. I’d go behind the trailer and light them. I loved the scratching sound of the match against the sandpapery brown strip when I struck it, and the way the flame leaped out of the redcoated tip with a pop and a hiss