Vaughn is talking about the heat, and his voice is so excited that it breaks into whispers at times. He loves his madness the way a bird loves the sky.

I don't dare touch her. Loss is a knowledge I'm sorry to have. Perhaps the only thing worse than experiencing it, is watching it replay anew in someone else--all the awful stages picking up like a chorus that has to be sung.

The thing about hope is that it doesn't go away even when it serves no purpose.

He says one word, nodding into the daylight. "Look." It's an astounding word. It's a gift.

I had this feeling like the solution to everything would be down there if only I could dig through all those clouds.

I'll tell you something about true love. There's no science to it. It's as natural as the sky.

The sullen boy sitting before me is not my husband, and the girl he is fretting over isn't me, will never be me.