I think there are two different oceans - the one that plays with you in the summer, and the one that gets so mad in the winter.

People changed. Even the people you thought you knew as well as you knew yourself.

Things had a way of working out for the best when you let them run their course.

Memories are like a still life painted by ten different student artists: some will be blue-based; others red; some will be as stark as Picasso and others as rich as Rembrandt; some will be foreshortened and others distant. Recollections are in the eye of the beholder; no two held up side by side will ever quite match.

In nineteen minutes, you can mow the front lawn; color your hair; watch a third of a hockey game. In nineteen minutes, you can bake scones or get a tooth filled by a dentist; you can fold laundry for a family of five. In nineteen minutes, you can stop the world; or you can just jump off it.

Traveling is all very well and good as long as you knew there is a place or person you can call home

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