All I can say is, it's a sort of kinship, as though there is a family tree of grief. On this branch, the lost children, on this the suicided parents, here the beloved mentally ill siblings. When something terrible happens, you discover all of the sudden that you have a new set of relatives, people with whom you can speak in the shorthand of cousins.

but you can't spend your whole life hoping people will ask you the right questions. you must learn to love and answer the questions they already ask.

My father was right: you could make anybody amazing just by insisting they were.

All I can say is, it's a sort of kinship, as though there is a family tree of grief. On this branch, the lost children, on this the suicided parents, here the beloved mentally ill siblings. When something terrible happens, you discover all of the sudden that you have a new set of relatives, people with whom you can speak in the shorthand of cousins.

And while I was not an admirer of people in the specific, I liked them in the abstract. It is only the execution of the idea that disappoints.

It's a happy life, but someone is missing. It's a happy life, and someone is missing.

The idea of a library full of books, the books full of knowledge, fills me with fear and love and courage and endless wonder.