I told him, though, that he better be good to you. When you came along, I said I'd share you, but I told him to remember that you're my sister. I loved you first.

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

It's always nervewracking to put yourself out there. But it's the root of joy.

She wondered again about her inclination to wish for things that made her so deeply unhappy.

Do you have any idea how much I've loved you?

Grief was like a newborn, and the first three months were hard as hell, but by six months you'd recognized defeat, shifted your life around, and made room for it.

He no longer represented someday a possibility. He represented a road not taken a road that suddenly shot so far into the distance she couldn’t see it anymore.