But then, my entire life is bullshit. The best things in it have vanished, ghosts. Ghosts I'll admit I created.

Forgiveness isn’t my best thing. Easier staying pissed. But I’m tired of being pissed all the time. Tired of feeling hurt by stuff that can never be fixed because it is an indelible part of the past.

I never went to Albuquerque expecting to find love. I thought it had found me there, followed me home. I never came home expecting to lose love in the space of one brief telephone call. Is it always so short-lived?

Not even Carol knows firsthand how it feels to be hurt in such a way by someone who's supposed to protect you

Real love shouldn't be disposable.

Your life doesn't belong to you, it belongs to the people that love you

And if candor strikes to forcefully, step back, draw careful breath, and consider the angle your words must take before you open your mouth, let them leak out. Because once you tilt the truth, it becomes a lie.