Every seven years our bodies change, every cell. Every seven years, we disappear.

She'd never in her whole life bunked school, smoked dope, or kissed a boy whose name she didn't know, and yet in the last few days, she'd done all these things.

She'll understand what I already know - that death surrounds us all. And it tastes like metal between your teeth.

I love you. I love you. I send this message through my fingers and into his, up his arm and into his heart. Hear me. I love you. And I'm sorry to leave you.

If I learnt anything at all about terminal illness in my research, it's that the experience is different for everyone. I do believe that life becomes concentrated when it's boundaried and that death is the biggest boundary of all.

She needed food. Diets didn't count in a crisis.

Like a tree losing its leaves. I forget even the thing I was thinking.