I still felt fondness for her - fondness, that pleasant, detached mix of admiration and sentiment, appreciation and nostalgia.

You don't know me. You know one me, just like I know one you. And you can't know every me, and I can't know every you.

If you start the day reading the obituaries, you live your day a little differently.

If you let the world in, you open yourself up to the world. Even if the world doesn't know that you're there.

I was starting to think I was making up memories, just to have answers. Our brain does that sometimes. Or at least mine does.

it is so unfair that he lives in ohio, because that should be close enough, but since neither of us drives and neither of us would ever in a million years say, 'hey, mom, do you want to drive me across indiana to see a boy?,' we're kind of stuck.

Part of growing up is making sure your sense of reality isn't entirely grounded in your own mind.