In the end, the end of a life only matters to friends, family, and other folks you used to know. For everyone else, it's just another end.

If you are going to forgive a person, Liz decides, it is best to do it sooner rather than later. Later, Liz knows from experience, could be sooner than you thought.

Oh, all stories are the same, aren't they? Men and women fall in love or out of love. People are born; people die. It al ends happily or it all ends sadly, and the difference matters only to the people involved.

Let's stay young forever. Young, stupid, and pretty. Sounds like a plan, don't you think?

Life used to move much more quickly when I was a girl. We needed to abbreviate just to keep up.

The baby, a girl, is born at 6:24 a.m. She weighs six pounds, ten ounces. The mother takes the baby in her arms and asks her, "Who are you, my little one?" And in response, this baby, who is Liz and not Liz at the same time, laughs.

We are not quite novels. We are not quite short stories. In the end, we are collected works