Maybe honesty is overvalued. What's truly priceless is picking out from a stream of falsehoods the ones you most need to hear.

I grew up in a household where we didn't really talk about our feelings, and where the only reason you went to a doctor was because you'd accidentally cut off a limb with a chain saw.

Lies were only as strong as the suckers that believed them.

Remember when you were a little kid and you'd fall asleep in the car? And someone would carry you out and put you into bed, so that when you woke up in the morning, you knew automatically you were home again? That's what I think it's like to die.

You have to understand what you’re missing before you can really feel a loss.

It's crazy, right? To love someone who's hurt you? It's even crazier to think that someone who hurts you loves you.

I wonder if other mothers feel a tug at their insides, watching their children grow up into the people they themselves wanted so badly to be.