It's such a colossal effort not to be haunted by what's lost, but to be enchanted by what was.

How could a mother who boils water for pasta leave two little girls behind?

I could step out of this sad life like it's an old sorry dress.

We were all heading for each other on a collision course, no matter what. Maybe some people are just meant to be in the same story.

Life’s a freaking mess… there’s not one truth ever, just a bunch of stories, all going on at once, in our heads, in our hearts, all getting in the way of each other. It’s all a beautiful calamitous mess.

People die, I think, but your relationship with them doesn't. It continues and is ever-changing.

Dreams change, yes, that makes sense, but I didn't know dreams could hide inside a person.