And it was the kind of thing that loses the most important nuances when reduced to words. He had never told anyone about it, and he probably never would.

A certain type of perfection can only be realized through a limitless accumulation of the imperfect.

Exhaustion pays no mind to age or beauty. Like rain and earthquakes and hail and floods.

Everybody has to start somewhere. You have your whole future ahead of you. Perfection doesn't happen right away.

And as we live our lives we discover - drawing toward us the thin threads attached to each - what has been lost. I closed my eyes and tried to bring to mind as many beautiful lost things as I could. Drawing them closer, holding on to them.

I'm still not sure I made the right choice when I told my wife about the bakery attack.But then,it might not have been a question of right or wrong. Which is to say that wrong choices can produce right results, and vice versa. I myself have adopted the position that,in fact, we never choose anything at all. Things happen. Or not.

She's kind of funny looking. Her face is out of balance--broad forehead, button nose, freckled cheeks, and pointy ears. A slammed-together, rough sort of face you can't ignore. Still, the whole package isn't so bad. For all I know maybe she's not so wild about her own looks, but she seems comfortable with who she is, and that's the important thing.