It is all about numbers. It is all about sequence. It's the mathematical logic of being alive. If everything kept to its normal progression, we would live with the sadness-cry and then walk-but what really breaks us cleanest are the losses that happen out of order.

Language is the ticket to plot and character, after all, because both are built out of language.

It is so often surprising, who rescues you at your lowest moments.

The wine glasses are empty except for that one undrinkable red spot at the bottom.

But I loved George in part because he believed me; because if I stood in a cold, plain room and yelled FIRE, he would walk over and ask me why.

…kissing George was a little like rolling in caramel after spending years surviving off rice sticks.

While she cut the mushrooms, she cried more than she had at the grave, the most so far, because she found the saddest thing of all to be the simple truth of her capacity to move on.