People might think writing is a hard business, but it's nowhere near acting.

True love, it's like an illness. I never understood it before. In books and plays. Poems. I never understood what drove otherwise intelligent, right-thinking people to do such extravagant, irrational things. Now I do. It's an illness. You can catch it when you least expect. There's no known cure. And sometimes, in its most extreme, it's fatal.

In real life turning points are sneaky. They pass by unlabeled and unheeded. Opportunities are missed, catastrophes unwittingly celebrated. Turning points are only uncovered later, by historians who seek to bring order to a lifetime of tangled moments.

Thinking of nothing. Trying to think of nothing. Thinking of everything.

But in my humble opinion, a house needs a good party once in a while; remind folks it exists.

In each man's heart there lies a hole. A dark abyss of need, the filling of which takes precedence over all else.

Lil had always believed that a person's duty was to make the best of the hand they were dealt. No use wondering what might have been, she used to say, all that matters is what is.