Carmen hated the 'life is too short" rationalization. She thought it was one of the lamer excuses in the history of excuse-making. Whenever you did something because "life is too short not to," you could be sure life would be just long enough to punish you for it.

As a writer, you live in such isolation. It's hard to imagine your book has a life beyond you.

She perched on her windowsill, gazing at the lurid sun soaking into the Caldera, trying to appreciate it even though she couldn’t have it. Why did she always feel she had to do something in the face of beauty?

She spilled rice on my knee, and she smiled. I wanted her to spill a thousand things on me, lava, acid, bricks, anything, and smile each time

No matter how far back you cut a willow tree, it will never really die.

You surround yourself with your pain or you avoid it and let it find you when you are trying to do other things

You should find him because he loves you.