Interestingly, anger and lust are also elusive states once they have passed. Trying to recall why you were angry about something when you've calmed down is like trying to remember why you were in love with someone who no longer attracts you: the initial impulse triggering the emotion is impossible to recapture.

I have an intimate relationship with books. After all, I take them with me into the bathtub-not an invitation I offer lightly.

Anger is the quintessential individual-signature emotion: I am what makes me mad.

Birthdays are a reward for having shown up 365 days in a row. It's like getting a badge for attendance.

Truth is like nuclear waste: it needs to be dealt with carefully. Sometimes it needs to be buried way, way out of town. And sometimes it should never be uncovered at all.

I personally translated the word 'vendetta' as Italian for 'What do you mean, "you want to see other women"?

Anger can offer a sense of indignity to replace a sense of shame, and offer a voice-raised above others-which can finally be heard. Those voices are most effective when they are raised in unison, when they have mercy as well as anger behind them, and when, instead of roaring at the anger of old pain, they sing about the glorious possibilities of a future where anger has a smaller house than hope.