And the very act of living is a tide; at first it seems to make no difference at all, and then one day you look down and see how much pain has eroded

you can love a person and still hate the decisions they've made, can't you?

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

I know better than most people that a criminal isn't always a thug in a black leather jacket with a big brand on his forehead to warn us away. Criminals sit next to us on the bus. They pack our groceries and cash our paychecks for us and teach our children. They look no different from you or me. And that's why they get away with it.

I would figure out, later, how to explain to my boss that, for me, Delia will never be a story, but a happy ending.

Religion was supposed to be a blanket drawn up to your chin to keep you warm, a promise that when it came to the end, you wouldn't die alone - but it could just as easily leave you shivering out in the cold, if WHAT you believed became more important than the fact THAT you believed.

You can blame your ugliness for keeping people at bay, when in reality you're crippled by the thought of letting another person close enough to popentially scar you even more deeply. You can tell yourself that it's safer to love someone who will never really love you back, because you can't lose someone you never had.