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

He believed in dreams, in endings that people told you could never happen, in disappointments reversed and luck that lasted.

Crying wasn't like riding a bike. Give it up, and you quickly forget how it's done.

I loved him even now, as he took a knife to my throat, as I drowned in blood, as I whispered "Cousin, you were wrong. We were born to live.

I wasn't good company, that was true, and people avoided me, but that was all right. I was too busy dreaming.

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.

In losing a friend, she is reminded of all she has lost and all she stands to lose again. There is nothing to be done to make it any easier. We all grieve alone.