I learn from my own daughter that you don’t have to be awake to cry.

Maybe I was naïve to think that silence was implicit complacence, instead of a festering question. Maybe I was silly to believe that friends owed each other anything.

In the space between yes and no, there's a lifetime. It's the difference between the path you walk and the one you leave behind; it's the gap between who you thought you could be and who you really are; its the legroom for the lies you'll tell yourself in the future.

I know how difficult it can be when the image you've had of something doesn't match its reality; when the friend beside you turns into a monster.

When you want something bad, you'll tell yourself a thousand lies.

It was a strange thing, to still be in love with your wife and to not know if you liked her. What would happen when this was all over? Could you forgive someone if she hurt you and the people you love, if she truly believed she was only trying to help? I had filed for divorce, but that wasn't what I really wanted. What I really wanted was for all of us to go back two years, and start over. Had I ever really told her that?

What if instead of focusing on what you don't have, you concentrate on what you've got?