Was there a language of loss? Did everyone who suffered speak a different dialect?

She understood how a world jammed with phones, email, and faxes could still leave you feeling utterly alone.

If you had grown up with me, this is one of the things I would have tried to teach you: Marry a man who loves you more than you love him. Because I have both now, and when it is the other way around, there is no spell in the world that can even out the balance.

Seeing her sitting there unresponsive makes me realize that silence has a sound.

Inside each of us is a monster; inside each of us is a saint. The real question is which one we nurture the most, which one will smite the other.

If it is possible to die of grief then why on earth can't someone be healed by happiness?

See, as much as you want to hold on to the bitter sore memory that someone has left this world, you are still in it