Passion and platonic friendliness, often contrary siblings, frequently wear similar faces to hide the great distance between them.

Things don't go away. They become you.

Sometimes one learns too early, as I did, what the world is capable of.

The cracks in old friendships are measured in awkward pauses.

Everybody wants life to speak to them with special kindness. Every personal story begs to be steered toward reverie, toward some relief from unpleasant truths: That you are a self, that beyond anything else you want the best for that self. That, if it is to be you or someone else, you need it to be you, no matter what.

Regret doesn't budge things; it seems crazy that the force of all that human want can't amend a moment, can't even stir a pebble.

When you know you are dying, self-deceptions fly from your bedside like embers off a bonfire.