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.

Most people who offer their help do it to make themselves feel better, not us. To be honest, I don't blame them. It's superstition: If you give assistance to the family in need... if you throw salt over your shoulder... if you don't step on the cracks, then maybe you'll be immune. Maybe you'll be able to convince yourself that this could never happen to you.

sometimes words are not big enough to contain all the feelings you are trying to pour into them.

You know, he told me once, completely exasperated, you've got one glass of water inside your head, with all the tears for a lifetime. If you waste them over nothing, then you won't be able to cry for real when you need to.

A place like this wears down everything, and tolerance is no exception. In here, coexistence passes for forgiveness. You do not learn to like something you abhor; you come to live with it...You live and let live, and eventually that becomes enough.

This is what I like about photographs. They're proof that once, even if just for a heartbeat, everything was perfect.

Houses are cellular walls; they keep our problems from bleeding into everyone else's.