Amy Tan

My sister Kwan believes she has yin eyes. She sees those who have died and now dwell in the World of Yin, ghosts who leave the mists just to visit her kitchen on Balboa Street in San Francisco.

"Libby-ah," she'll say to me. "Guess who I see yesterday, you guess." And I don't have to guess that she's talking about someone dead.

Everyone must dream. We dream to give ourselves hope. To stop dreaming — well, that’s like saying you can never change your fate. Isn’t that true?

I saw what I had been fighting for: it was for me, a scared child...

I remember wondering why it was that eating something good could make me feel so terrible, while vomiting something terrible could make me feel so good.

My father has asked me to be the fourth corner at the Joy Luck Club. I am to replace my mother, whose seat at the mah jong table has been empty since she died two months ago. My father thinks she was killed by her own thoughts.

Only two kind of daughters. Those who are obedient and those who follow their own mind! Only one kind of daughter can live in this house. Obedient daughter!

Even though I was young, I could see the pain of the flesh and the worth of the pain.

Over the years, she told me the same story, except for the ending, which grew darker, casting long shadows into her life, and eventually into mine.

I was no longer scared. I could see what was inside me.

Why are you attracted only to Chinese nonsense?

My mother had a look on her face that I'll never forget. It was one of complete despair and horror, for losing Bing, for being so foolish as to think she could use faith to change fate.

Now that I'm angry at Harold, it's hard to remember what was so remarkable about him.