I don't know who I am. Or maybe I do know who I am and I just don't want to be her anymore.

It's a good thing Kerry's dead, because that funeral would've sent him over the edge," Henry said.

But what if Shakespeare― and Hamlet― were asking the wrong question? What if the real question is not whether to be, but how to be?

There are like twenty people in that waiting room right now. Some of them are related to you. Some of them are not. But we're all your family.' "She stops now. Leans over me so that the wisps of her hair tickle my face. She kisses me on the forehead. 'You still have a family,' she whispers.

I know that unlike that night, tonight I won't kiss her. Or touch her. Or even see her up close. Tonight, I'll listen. And that'll be enough.

About being grateful for what you have instead of yearning for what you think you want.

How can it be so unclear to her when it's like the fingers on my hand to me?