...he had a way of taking your hand which made it clear he'd have to be the one to let go." From Alice Hoffman's "Local Girls", pg.102.

How could I have been so stupid to ignore everything I’d had in my life? The color red alone was worth kingdoms.

...and so many orchards circled the village that on some crisp October afternoons the whole wold smelled like pie.

Some fates are guaranteed, no matter who tries to intervene.

My grief was cold. It was nothing to share. It was nothing to speak about, nothing to feel.

I wrote to find beauty and purpose, to know that love is possible and lasting and real, to see day lilies and swimming pools, loyalty and devotion, even though my eyes were closed, and all that surrounded me was a darkened room. I wrote because that was who I was at the core, and if I was too damaged to walk around the block, I was lucky all the same. Once I got to my desk, once I started writing, I still believed anything was possible.

Perhaps it is possible to discover more in silence than in speech. Or perhaps it is only that those who are silent among us learn to listen.