The Cider House Rules

by John Irving

“Here in St. Cloud’s,” he wrote in his journal, “security is measured by the number of promises kept.

“I’m not saying it’s right, you understand? I’m saying it’s her choice—it’s a woman’s choice. She’s got a right to have a choice, you understand?”

“Moronville!” Larch shouted out the window as the train pulled away. “Idiotsburg!”

Nurse Angela at times wondered if Dr. Larch even knew how he tended to overlook women; she wondered if this was an occupational hazard among obstetricians, or if men with a tendency to overlook women were drawn to the obstetrical field.

she felt the girl was at the threshold of a change—she might either rise above her own bitterness or descend more deeply into it.

She read, got lost, began again, got lost again; she grew angrier and angrier.

It was in looking at sea gulls that it first occurred to Homer Wells that he was free.

This mannerism of what he’d seen of society struck Homer Wells quite forcefully; people, even nice people—because, surely, Wally was nice—would say a host of critical things about someone to whom they would then be perfectly pleasant.

Wally talked about the war. He said he’d thought about dropping out of college to go to flying school. “So if there is a war—if we get into it, I mean—then I’ll already know how to fly.” “You’ll do no such thing,” Olive said to him. “Why would you want to do such a thing?” Candy asked him. “I think you’re being selfish.” “What do you mean, selfish?” Wally asked. “A war is for your country, it’s serving your country!” “To you, it’s an adventure,” Candy said. “That’s what’s selfish about it.”

“A chance is enough,” said Homer Wells, who did not immediately recognize the tone in his own voice. “A chance is all we get, right? In the air, or underwater, or right here, from the minute we’re born.” Or from the minute we’re not born, he thought; now he recognized his tone of voice—it was Dr. Larch’s.

but Melony wondered where her rage would go. If she stopped looking for Homer Wells, would she stop thinking about him, too?

When time passes, it’s the people who knew you whom you want to see; they’re the ones you can talk to. When enough time passes, what’s it matter what they did to you?

What is hardest to accept about the passage of time is that the people who once mattered the most to us are wrapped up in parentheses.

And they were not crying to be born, he knew; they were crying because they were born.

“If abortions were legal, you could refuse—in fact, given your beliefs, you should refuse. But as long as they’re against the law, how can you refuse? How can you allow yourself a choice in the matter when there are so many women who haven’t the freedom to make the choice themselves? The women have no choice. I know you know that’s not right, but how can you—you of all people, knowing what you know—HOW CAN YOU

FEEL FREE TO CHOOSE NOT TO HELP PEOPLE WHO ARE NOT FREE TO GET OTHER HELP? You have to help them because you know how. Think about who’s going to help them if you refuse.”

“Here is the trap you are in,” Dr. Larch wrote to Homer. “And it’s not my trap—I haven’t trapped you. Because abortions are illegal, women who need and want them have no choice in the matter, and you—because you know how to perform them—have no choice, either. What has been violated here is your freedom of choice, and every woman’s freedom of choice, too. If abortion was legal, a woman would have a choice—and so would you. You could feel free not to do it because someone else would. But the way it is, you’re trapped. Women are trapped. Women are victims, and so are you.