the territory of grief ... is both cruel and commonplace.

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

What do you do when the story changes in midlife? When a tale you have told yourself turns out to be a little untrue, just enough to throw the world off-kilter? It’s like leaving the train at the wrong stop: You are still you, but in a new place, there by accident or grace, and you will need your wits about you to proceed.

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 flaw is the thing we love.

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

Near the end I asked him one night in the hospital corridor what he thought was happening, and he said, "Tell her everything you haven't said," and I smiled with relief. "There's nothing," I said. "I've already told her everything.