He told me once that there was no better faith than a wounded faith and sometimes I wonder if that is what he was doing all along --trying to wound his faith in order to test it--and I was just another stone in the way of his God.

Memory has a heavy backspin, yet it’s still impossible to land exactly where we took off.

People think they know the mystery of living in your skin. They don't. There's no one who knows except the person who carts it around her own self.

There are rocks deep enough in this earth that no matter what the rupture, they will never see the surface. There is, I think, a fear of love. There is a fear of love.

He might have been naive, but he didn't care; he said he's rather die with his heart on his sleeve than end up another cynic.

Literature can remind us that not all life is already written down: there are still so many stories to be told.

I don't know of a greater privilege than being allowed to tell a story, or to listen to a story. They're the only thing we have that can trump life itself.