Why do some memories bleed out of nowhere and others stay locked behind doors?

She had never been a pretty crier. She sobbed the way she did everything else - with passion and excess.

I remember for that one moment, I believe I was hitch hiking on one of those comets, falling so fast that I'd surely burn away before I ever hit the ground.

It turns out that sharing the past with someone is different from reliving it when you’re alone. It feels less like a wound, more like a poultice.

What she couldn't put into word was what had happened in between to change her from one person into the other

Many people have a novel inside them, but most don't bother to get it out.

Dead isn’t angels or ghosts. It’s a physical state of breakdown, a change in all those carbon atoms that create the temporary house of a body so that they can return to their most elemental stage.