I told him that I loved him and that I'd always love him and I felt like a child who throws a centavo into a fountain and then she has to tell someone her most extraordinary wish even though she knows that the wish should be kept secret and that, in telling it, she is quite probably losing it. He replied that I was not to worry, that the penny could come out of the fountain again and again and again.

Pain is not wat you get, it is wat you give.

So much of her time spent like this: dreaming up things to say and never quite saying them.

Sometimes, in life, nothing happens. But, sometimes, nothing happens beautifully.

The world spins. We stumble on. It is enough.

I sit there thinking about how much courage it takes to live an ordinary life.

Part of me really wants to believe that hope is entirely available to all of us. We don't have to embrace it. It would be sentimental and silly to say that we all need it, but it is absolutely available to all of us.