The Cider House Rules

by John Irving

To look at the photograph reminded Larch of the life she must have had; it reminded him, too, that he could have eased the pain of her life—just a little—by giving her an abortion. The photograph reminded Larch of a life he could have—even if only momentarily—saved. Mrs. Eames’s tragic daughter should have been his first abortion patient.

“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?” Larch asked.

Loving someone as a parent can produce a cloud that conceals from one’s vision what correct behavior is.”

Let Larch call it whatever he wants, thought Homer Wells. It’s his choice—if it’s a fetus, to him, that’s fine. It’s a baby to me, thought Homer Wells. If Larch has a choice, I have a choice, too.

“You disapprove?” Dr. Larch asked Homer. “I don’t disapprove of you,” Homer Wells said. “I disapprove of it—it’s not for me.” “Well, I’ve never forced you,” Dr. Larch said. “And I never will. It’s all your choice.”

A lie is at least a vigorous enterprise, it keeps you on your toes by making you suddenly responsible for what happens because of it. You must be alert to lie, and stay alert to keep your lie a secret.

“When you lie, it makes you feel in charge of your life.

it was especially gratifying to lie to unlikable people.

What is all this worrying about lying? he

Homer Wells would never have blamed them if they had lied; they would have lied only to protect him. And if they’d remembered his mother, and his mother was a monster, wasn’t it better that they’d lied? To orphans, not every truth is wanted.

If Homer Wells had been an amateur historian, he would have been as much of a revisionist as Wilbur Larch—he would have tried to make everything come out all right in the end.

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?

With the drugs she was taking, Olive felt a perfect freedom. It was not for her to tell them that she knew what she knew; it was for them to tell her what they were keeping from her. Until they told her, she could keep them guessing about what she knew.

“Some rules are good rules, kiddo,” Wally would tell the boy, kissing him (which Wally did a lot, especially in the water). “But some rules are just rules. You just got to break them carefully.”

“Well, what do you suppose a drug dependency is—if not a kind of religion?” Nurse Caroline asked. “I have no quarrel with anyone at prayer,” Wilbur Larch said. “Prayer is personal—prayer is anyone’s choice. Pray to whom or what you want! It’s when you start making rules,

“Once the state starts providing, it feels free to hand out the rules, too!”

Children are most impressed with the importance of a moment when they witness a parent breaking the parent’s own rule.

“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?

How we love to love things for other people; how we love to have other people love things through our eyes.