This is why I loved the support groups so much, if people thought you were dying, they gave you their full attention. If this might be the last time they saw you, they really saw you. Everything else about their checkbook balance and radio songs and messy hair went out the window. You had their full attention. People listened instead of just waiting for their turn to speak. And when they spoke, they weren't just telling you a story. When the two of you talked, you were building something, and afterward you were both different than before.

It's funny how the beauty of art has so much more to do with the frame than the artwork itself.

You see, life only turns out good or bad for only a little bit. And then it turns out some other way.

To hell with housework, our top priority has always been between our legs.

This is less teaching than damage control. You may as well paint a house that’s on fire.

Everyone is equal and everyone is forced to participate; you can't just be a spectator.

I feel my heart ache, but I've forgotten what that feeling means.