I wept to think that life went on even when so much had been lost, that rain still fell and myrtle grew between the rocks.

I can't really work on more than one thing at a time

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.

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

Feel lucky for what you have when you have it. Isn't that the point? Happily ever after doesn't mean happy forever. The ever after, what precisely was that? Your dreams, your life, your death, your everything. Was it the blank space that went on without us? The forever after we were gone?

I was beginning to understand.My grandmother's love was cold because she was afraid of things;that was why everything had to be perfect.

The more you feel, the stronger you are.