That's the way love sounds, my mother told me. You think it should feel like honey, but instead it cuts like a knife.

Love was like rain: it turned into ice, or it disappeared. Now you saw it, now you couldn't find it no matter how hard you might search. Love evaporated; obsession was realer; it hurt, like a pin in your bottom, a stone in your shoe. It didn't go away in the blink of an eye. A morning phone call filled with regret. A letter that said, Dear you, good-bye from me. Obsession tasted like something familiar. Something you'd known your whole life. It settled and lurked; it stayed with you.

The nature of love had totally escaped her until now. She had thought that if you lost it, you could never get it back, like a stone thrown down a well. But it was like the water at the bottom of the well, there when you can't even see it, shifting in the dark.

The best way to die is when your living

Ironically, now that my children are older and gone quite a bit, I find it harder to work when they're not around. Too much free time!

Some stories stayed with you even when you wanted to forget them.

The weak are cruel. The strong have no need to be.