This was her life. Not the life she had once dreamed of, not a life her younger self would ever have imagined or desired, but the life she was living, with all its complexities. This was her life, built with care and attention, and it was good.

The Lake of Dreams grew gradually, over many years, elements and ideas accruing until they gained enough critical mass to become a novel.

He'd kept this silence because his own secrets were darker, more hidden, and because he believed that his secrets had created hers.

A moment was not a single moment at all, but rather an infinite number of different moments, depending on who was seeing things and how.

The challenges in this place are real and sometimes very difficult, but I've learned to slow down and look for beauty in my days, for the mysteries and blessings woven into everything, into the very words we speak.

He wished he had some kind of X-ray vision for the human heart.

It's funny how things seem different, suddenly.