My dad used to say that living with regrets was like driving a car that only moved in reverse.

You didn't get past something like that, you go through it -- and for that reason alone, I understood more about her than she ever would have guessed.

How do you know that you are not part of a book? That someone's not reading your story right now?

Maybe the reason I've never died in this story is that I've never had something worth dying for before.

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

Marina sighs. "Love's a tidal wave," she says. "Because it sweeps you off your feet?" I ask. "No. Because it sucks you under and you drown.

What you didn't tell someone was just as debilitating as what you did.