I considered her my ally, because, like me, she was imperfect.

Mr. Shepherd, ye cannot stop a bad thought from coming into your head. But ye need not pull up a chair and bide it sit down." - Mrs. Brown

Memory is a complicated thing, a relative to truth, but not its twin.

Sometimes I prayed for Baby Jesus to make me good, but Baby Jesus didn't.

What we end up calling history is a kind of knife, slicing down through time. A few people are hard enough to bend its edge. But most won't even stand close to the blade. I'm one of those. We don't bend anything.

Listen. To live is to be marked. To live is to change, to acquire the words of a story, and that is the only celebration we mortals really know. In perfect stillness, frankly, I've only found sorrow.

How pointless life could be, what a foolish business of inventing things to love, just so you could dread losing them.