Childhood is a long, long road, from which that dark whispering forest of death seems an impossible destination.

None of the wives mention the security guards by the door, who will probably tackle us to the ground if we try to leave without our husbands.

I miss something I never even had.

When we're alive, life consumes us. But when we die, all of the color and the motion is gone so quickly, it's as though it can no longer stand to be wasted on us.

Love is not enough to keep any of us alive.

Do you know what my father used to say?" I ask her. "He used to say that songs had a heart. A crescendo that can make all your blood rush from your head to your toes.

You can't be afraid. You can be sad if you like. You can be angry. But it's the fear that'll freeze you in place.