For better or for worse, music is the language of memory. It is also the language of love.

When you think you're right, you're most likely wrong.

When you look into your baby’s eyes,” Lacy said softly, “you see everything you hope they can be…not everything you wish they won’t become.

Just so you know: if this ever happens to you, you will not be ready.

What I really want to tell him is to pick up that baby of his and hold her tight, to set the moon on the edge of her crib and to hang her name up in the stars.

Something still exists as long as there's someone around to remember it.

But rules only work when everyone plays by them. What happens when someone doesn't, and the fallout bleeds right into his life? Whats stronger- the need to uphold the law, or the motive to turn one's back on it?