It was terrible. All of the things we couldn't share. The room was filled with conversations we weren't having.

It is not a thing that you can imagine. It only is. After that, there can be no imagining.

As I've grown older, I've grown more convinced there's nothing that shouldn't be talked about. If we think we're protecting each other, we're not.

Life is precious, so I ought to spend my days, you know, making sandwiches for homeless people and tending to the elderly in hospice care. Life is precious, so I should give everything away, except that I live in the world. And in the world, I actually have needs and wants, and I value my needs and wants. And I live in the world, and I can't just go make sandwiches every day because I also have to take kids to school. I also have to, you know, write books because that's my livelihood.

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

[...]It is as if after surviving so much, there was no longer reason to survive.

I think and think and think, I‘ve thought myself out of happiness one million times, but never once into it.