Don't waste your one beautiful life.

My cousins and I used to play Beatle wives. We all wanted to be married to Paul, but John was O.K. too. None of us wanted Ringo. Or even worse, George.

No one can write like Cheryl Strayed.

Grief doesn't have a plot. It isn't smooth. There is no beginning and middle and end.

My daughter, Grace, was not killed by a gun. She died suddenly at age 5 from a virulent form of strep. As I stood stunned in a church at her memorial, one of the hardest things I heard someone say was, 'I'm going to go home and hug my child a little tighter.' 'Well, good for you,' I thought. 'I'm going to go home and scream.'

I have learned that there is more power in a good strong hug than in a thousand meaningful words.

Time doesn't heal, I had learned, it just keeps moving. And it takes us with it.