Why did becoming accustomed to something have to render its pleasures stale.

There was some sadness in how that could happen, falling out of love with something that had shaped you. Or even people who had.

Sometimes you didn't really arrive at a conclusion about your life, you just discovered that you already had.

How we remember changes how we have lived. Time runs both ways. We make stories of our lives.

She was owner and captive, both, of a bitterly divided heart.

Words were power, words tried to change you, to shape bridges of longing that no one could ever really cross.

A hard truth: that courage can be without meaning or impact, need not be rewarded, or even known. The world has not been made in that way. Perhaps, however, within the self there might come a resonance, the awareness of having done something difficult, of having done . . . something.