Then I have some bad news for you, because humans are going to destroy each other as soon as it becomes easy enough to, which will be very soon.

She was a genius of sadness, immersing herself in it, separating its numerous strands, appreciating its subtle nuances. She was a prism through which sadness could be divided into its infinite spectrum.

She was with me. She did all of those things and so many more, things I would never tell anyone, and she never even loved me. Now that’s love.

Why didn't I learn to treat everything like it was the last time. My greatest regret was how much I believed in the future.

I think it's very pretty. Can it be pretty if no one thinks it's pretty? I think it's pretty. If you're the only one? That's pretty pretty. And what about the boys? Don't you want them to think you're pretty? I wouldn't want a boy to think I was pretty unless he was the kind of boy who thought I was pretty.

Just about every children's book in my local bookstore has an animal for its hero. But then, only a few feet away in the cookbook section, just about every cookbook includes recipes for cooking animals. Is there a more illuminating illustration of our paradoxical relationship with the nonhuman world?

We cracked up together, which was necessary, because she loved me again.