I don't know how the heart withstands it.

This is what I want: I want to grab my brother’s hand and run back through time, losing years like coats falling from our shoulders.

Life's a freaking mess. In fact, I'm going to tell Sarah we need to start a new philosophical movement: messessentialism instead of existentialism: For those who revel in the essential mess that is life. Because Gram's right, 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. It's like the day Mr. James took us into the woods and cried triumphantly, "That's it! That's it!" to the dizzying cacophony of soloing instruments trying to make music together. That is it.

It's time for second chances. It's time to remake the world.

Let me just unsubscribe to my own mind already, because I don't get any of it.

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

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