One mistake, one brief lapse of my new found judgement-that's all it took to unravel everything. What a massive responsibility, being a moral creature.

Here we are on the road. We must be going somewhere.

Enough white lies can scorch the earth black.

Once you've arrived at the end of the world, it hardly matters which route you took.

She is everything. And if she is everything, maybe that's answer enough.

I wince at her use of the word "human." I've never liked that differentiation. She is living and I'm dead, but we're both human. Call me an idealist.

It's rare that I read more than two or three books by any one author, usually only one.