The seeds of death get lost in the mess that God made us.

Chunks of his life fell away, so that while we were moving ahead in time, he was moving back.

In the end, it wasn't death that surprised her but the stubbornness of life.

He had the feeling that there was something physically behind his eyes, blocking the light.

If I write a character, instead of looking from the outside, like maybe a journalist would, trying to describe them physically and figuring out what kind of things they might be interested in or have in their house, I don't really do it that way. I try to feel what it would be like to be inside this person, to be them.

It was like autumn, looking at her. it was like driving up north to see the colors.

He remained heartbroken, which meant one of two things: either his love was pure and true and earthshakingly significant; or he was addicted to feeling forlorn, he liked being heartbroken.