I can't do this because I can't...I can't be the man I want to be with you. And that means that this - this just becomes...another reminder of what I am not.

She does not want to feel even the faintest temptation to call his mobile number, as she had done obsessively for the first year after his death so she could hear his voice on the answering service. Most days now his loss is a part of her, an awkward weight she carries around, invisible to everyone else, subtly altering the way she moves through the day. But today, the Anniversary of the day he died, is a day when all bets are off.

Sometimes when you get hammered till the small hours you feel pretty good in the morning, but really it's just because you're still a bit drunk. That old hangover is just toying with you, working out when to bite.

"What if I like watching television? What if I don't want to do much else other than read a book?"... "What if I'm tired when I get home? What if I don't fill my days with frenetic activity?" "But one day you might wish you had."

I told him I loved him,” she said, her voice dropping to a whisper. “And he just said it wasn’t enough.” Her eyes were wide and bleak . “How am I supposed to live with that?

Push yourself. Don't Settle. Just live well. Just LIVE.

... if you're going to wear a dress like that you need to wear it with confidence. You need to fill it out mentally as well as physically.