What she did was refuse to be hurried, and refuse to be impressed, and those two refusals turned out to be worth more in a room like this than any amount of eloquence.

When my father died and my mother’s texts began arriving with their soft, insistent pressure, I had driven to Bettina’s office with a box of everything my father had ever mentioned, and we had spent an evening laying it all out on her conference table, and at the end of it she had looked at me over her reading glasses and said, Your father did your work for you.

He built a case and then he raised a daughter capable of using it.

All we have to do is not lose our nerve.