...so young, so lonely and naive, that she imagined herself as some sort of vessel to be filled up with love. But it wasn't like that. The love was within her all the time and its only renewal came from giving it away.

She didn't love him and he didn't love her; she was like an addiction, and what they were doing had a darkness to it, a weight.

So something had begun, and now she could not stop it. Twin threads ran through her: fear and excitement. She could leave this place today. She could start a new life somewhere else.

You can't stop time. You can't capture light. You can only turn your face up and let it rain down.

Norah watched him, serious and utterly absorbed in his task, overcome by the simple fact of his existence.

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.

Lately, the world felt fragile, like a blown egg, as if it might shatter beneath a careless touch.