Lonliness evaporated off of them like the steam off dry ice, and by morning it was just a cloud on the ceiling of the room, then gone with the light.

We know there's going to be nothing but pain, but we go back again and again.

The prospect of change is a many-fanged beast, my dear.

Unless you can change the past, you’re wasting the present on this guilt

Charlie Asher: Mrs. Ling, is that duck wearing trousers? Mrs. Ling: Could be . . . . You hear of paper-wrap chicken? This duck in pants.

There's a fine edge to new grief, it severs nerves, disconnects reality--there's mercy in a sharp blade. Only with time, as the edge wears, does the real ache begin.

You're going to break my heart, aren't you?