Even the most beautiful things can be toxic.

I've always sort of wondered: If everyone else's opinion is what matters, then do you ever really have one of your own?

Ross was a firm believer that you could not force circumstance. You could buckle your seat belt, but still crash the car. You could throw yourself in front of an oncoming train, but somehow survive. You could wait for years to find a ghost, and then have one sneak up on you when you were too busy falling in love with a woman to pay attention. To that end, he made the conscious decision to stop waiting for Lia. When he least expected her, that was when she would show up.

Most people who offer their help do it to make themselves feel better, not us. To be honest, I don't blame them. It's superstition: If you give assistance to the family in need... if you throw salt over your shoulder... if you don't step on the cracks, then maybe you'll be immune. Maybe you'll be able to convince yourself that this could never happen to you.

The bigger the hole inside you, the more desperate you became to fill it.

Sometimes when you find something you didn't really realize you were looking for, you just don't know how to react.

Then Henry speaks again. "Did he do it?" I turn to him slowly. "Does it matter?