I used to pretend that I was just passing through this family on my way to my real one.

So much of the language of love was like that: you devoured someone with your eyes, you drank in the sight of him, you swallowed him whole. Love was substance, broken down and beating through your bloodstream.

My grandmother told me that her father used to ask her a riddle: What must you break apart in order to bring a family close together? Bread, of course.

It took me a lifetime to realizethings don't get lost if they don't have value- you don't miss what you don't care about.

That's what love is. It's some power greater than you and me, that draws us to one special person

In America right now, the people who talk about race the most are people of color - and if we are going to move the needle forward, it's WHITE people who need to acknowledge their role in racism.

The best thing about endings is knowing that just ahead is the daunting task to start over.