Grief is what tells you who you are alone.

Scratch a fantasy and you'll find a nightmare.

The flaw is the thing we love.

Old dogs can be a regal sight. Their exuberance settles over the years into a seasoned nobility, their routines become as locked into yours as the quietest and kindest of marriages.

Maybe this is the point: to embrace the core sadness of life without toppling headlong into it, or assuming it will define your days.

I know now that we never get over great losses; we absorb them, and they carve us into different, often kinder, creatures.

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