Isabel Kelly

You know, I never wanted to be a mom. Sharing it with you... that's one thing. It's another to be looking over my shoulder for the next twenty years, knowing someone else would have done it better... someone else would have done it right.

You're Mother Earth, incarnate.

You ride with Anna.

You know every story, every wound, every memory. Their whole life's happiness is wrapped up in you... every single second. Don't you get it? Look down the road to her wedding. I'm in a room alone with her, fixing her veil, fluffing her dress, telling her no woman has ever looked so beautiful. And my fear is she'll be thinking, "I wish my mom was here."

It's not that I can't cook, I choose not to cook.

I am so unbelievably sick of your imperious bullshit. I never said I was June-fucking-Clever...

...and if every time life hits her hard you want to have a twelve hour conversation every third Tuesday of the month, go right ahead, lady, I have a life.

Maybe the problem here is your daughter, and that she is a spoiled, wise-ass little brat.

Are you sure? I didn't see that on the schedule.

Ben? Ben? Ben. Get up, get up, get up. Late, late, late. Ben? Come on, honey. Get up. We're seriously late.

All right, you may think this is funny but this is so not…

funny. I'm not kidding around anymore, Ben. You make yourself appear right this instant. Ben? Ben? The clock is ticking, Ben. Come on now. Ben?

If you meet me back here in 1 hour, I will prove to you why you hired me... even though I wouldn't sleep with you