Jacob's room is the place entropy goes to die.

This was the reason there was music, he realized. There were some feelings that didn't have words big enough to describe them.

Bleeding heart, he’d called her. Well. He should know. He’d been the first to rip it to pieces.

It was possible that a miracle was not something that happened to you, but rather something that didn’t.

The problem isn’t with rock lyrics, it’s with the fabric of this society itself.

I think people do things all the time in the name of love that they shouldn't be doing - such is the nature of us.

So much of marriage was implicit and nonverbal. Had I gotten so complacent I'd forgotten to communicate?