A few weeks after the worst day, I started writing lots of letters. I don't know why, but it was one of the only things that made my boots lighter.

I kept thinking how they were all names of dead people, and how names are basically the only thing dead people keep.

What do babies dream of? She must be dreaming of the before-life, just as I dream of the afterlife.

You do not have to utter anything you do not want to utter,” I told her, and she said, “Then I would never utter another word again.” “You do not have to do anything that you do not want to do.” “Then I would never do anything again.

Factory farmers talk about their desire to feed the world. That's not what they're doing. They're feeding the world with really, really cheap stuff.

I wondered, for the first time in my life, if life was worth all the work it took to live. What exactly made it worth it?

She wants to know if I love her, that's all anyone wants from anyone else, not love itself but the knowledge that love is there, like new batteries in the flashlight in the emergency kit in the hall closet.