Mistakes are like the memories you hide in an attic: old love letters from relationships that tanked, photos of dead relatives, toys from a childhood you miss. Out of sight is out of mind, but somewhere deep inside you know they still exist. And you also know that you're avoiding them.

Kids think with their brains cracked wide open; becoming an adult, I've decided, is only a slow sewing shut.

I think...she said finally, "that all of us have got our ghosts.

I wonder if the conversations you've never had with someone count, if you've been over them a thousand times in your mind.

If she spoke, she would tell him the truth: she was not okay at all, but horribly empty, now that she knew what it was like to be filled.

My friends say I have two speeds: fast and blistering.

There's a cliff at the end point of a person's life; most us of peer over the edge of it, hanging on. That's why, when someone chooses to let go, it's so dramatically visible. The body will seem almost transparent. The eys will be looking at something the rest of us can't see.