What else is there to write about than love and loss?

Love is worth the sum of itself, and nothing more.

Books may well be the only true magic.

It was the sort of beauty you feel so deeply it becomes contagious and somehow makes you feel beautiful too.

My mother, Abra, had taught me that all people are made from the same dust. When our days here are gone, all men and women enter the same garden.

I thought of the bowl of water my mother taught me to look into. It was true, everything a person ever needed to know was right there in a single bowl small enough to fit in the palm of one hand.

But most important of all, she explained that it was all right to say 'No. I disagree.' that was a gift. I understood it was power. The power to think my own thoughts. The power to believe in myself.