I did the searching and remembering, she did the disappearing and the forgetting.

I allowed myself to suffer how jarringly destructive the present feels and how fragile the past.

I'm dying with you before I'm living without you.

Their friendship was only one aspect of their lives but it seemed to give meaning to all the others.

She knew whose love she doubted. It wasn't her parents' and it wasn't her friends: It was her own.

What you leave behind is the people you loved. You leave yourself in them.

Love made you admire funny things about a person, like how good she was at remembering to return her library books and at slicing cucumbers very thin. She was a veritable wonder at pulling a splinter out of her foot.