I believed him. I was not stupid. I was his wife.

Consumers are going to have get used to eating less meat - to paying more for better quality meat and eating significantly less of it.

Suddenly Yankel was overcome with a fear of dying, stronger than he felt when his parents passed of natural causes, stronger than when his only brother was killed in the flour mill or when his children died, stronger even than when he was a child and it first occurred to him that he must try to understand what it could mean not to be alive -- to be not in darkness, not in unfeeling -- to be not being, not to be.

My test for writing is always, is this fun or does it feel like a job? Is it moving me? Or am I just fulfilling my own expectations - or even worse, somebody else's?

I wanted to cry but I didn't, I probably should have cried, I should have drowned us there in the room ending our suffering.

She wanted nothing more than someone to miss, to touch, with whom to speak like a child, with whom to be a child.

He Wrote, Are you OK? I told him, My eyes are crummy. He wrote, But are you OK? I told him, That's a very complicated question. He wrote, That's a very simple answer. I asked, Are you OK? He wrote, Some mornings I wake up feeling grateful.