What can you say about a twenty-five-year-old girl who died?

There was a brief silence. I think I heard snow falling.

I think the Peace Corps is a fine thing, don't you?" he said. "Well," I replied, "it's certainly better than War Corps.

What can you say about a twenty-five-year-old girl who died?

Her handwriting was curious — small sharp little letters with no capitals (who did she think she was, e. e. cummings?).

The pain of not knowing what to do was exceeded only by that of knowing what I had done.

Please, if one of us cries, let both of us cry. But preferably neither of us.