It's and old, old story: I had a friend and we shared everything, and then she died and so we shared that, too.

The Hours is in fact a lovely triumph. Cunningham honors both Mrs. Dalloway and its creator with unerring sensitivity, thanks to his modesty of intention and his sovereignly affecting prose.... With his elliptical evocation of Mrs. Dalloway, he has managed to pay great but quiet tribute -- reminding us of the gorgeous, ferocious beauty of what endures.

Like a starfish, the heart endures its amputation.

memory is both the curse of grief and the eventual talisman against it; what at first seems unbearable becomes the succor that can outlast pain.

The truth, or success, of any writer's story lies partly in its specificity and its emotional honesty.

I'd confused need with love and love with sacrifice.

It's and old, old story: I had a friend and we shared everything, and then she died and so we shared that, too.