The secret was a hole in the middle of me that every happy thing fell into.

I've never particularly liked bankers.

Please be truthful, but also please be benevolent, please.

When I looked at you, my life made sense. Even the bad things made sense. They were necessary to make you possible.

I got tired, I told him. Not worn out, but worn through. Like one of those wives who wakes up one morning and says I can't bake any more bread.

We shouldn't be intimidated by someone else's idea of perfection if it will prevent us from taking steps we actively want to take.

And so it was when anyone tried to speak: their minds would become tangled in remembrance. Words became floods of thought with no beginning or end, and would drown the speaker before he could reach the life raft of the point he was trying to make. It was impossible to remember what one meant, what, after all of the words, was intended.