If there wasn't a word for it, would we realize our masochism as much?

love is tied to truth. I think of them as unhappily conjoined twins.

You are so close, and I can’t reach you.

This, I think, is how people survive: Even when horrible things have been done to us, we can still find gratitude in one another.

I am like the fish in the aquarium, thinking in a different language, adapting to a life that’s not my natural habitat. I am the people in the other cars, each with his or her own story, but passing too quickly to be noticed or understood.

Tell me a way you think this can work." "We'll find a way," I tell her. "That's not an answer. It's a hope." "Hope's gotten us this far. Not answers.

I don’t want to throw everything away for something uncertain.