How inevitable it is; we step into an ordinary moment and never come out again.

I was fascinated by the lack of a word for a parent who has lost a child. We have no word in English. I thought for sure there'd be a word in Irish but there is none. And then I looked in several other languages and could not find one, until I found the word Sh'khol in Hebrew. I'm still not sure why so many languages don't have a word for this sort of bereavement, this shadowing.

We stumble on, thinks Jaslyn, bring a little noise into the silence, find in others the ongoing of ourselves. It is almost enough.

Pain's nothing. Pain's what you give, not what you get.

I gave them all the truth and none of the honesty.

Words are good for saying what things are, but sometimes they don't function for what things aren't.

The essence of intelligence was to know when, or if, to expose even the heart's deep need for instruction.