The question I've asked more often during our marriage, if not out loud, if not to the person who could answer. I supposed these questions storm cloud over every marriage: What are you thinking how are you feeling? Who are you? What have we done to each other? What will we do?

She released her grievances like handfuls of birdseed: They are there, and they are gone.

Ah, well, being conflicted means you can live a shallow life without copping to be a shallow person.

Coffee goes great with sudden death.

I just think some women aren't made to be mothers. And some women aren't made to be daughters.

And if all of us are play-acting, there can be no such thing as a soul mate, because we don't have genuine souls.

Give me a man with a little fight in him, a man who calls me on my bullshit. (But who also kind of likes my bullshit.)