For a moment, my heart aches for him. I should never have asked him to join me here; I should never have asked him to cross.

We should be protected from the people who will leave us in the end, from all the people who will disappear or forget us.

There's still always the possibility that I've gone totally, clinically cuckoo. But somehow I don't think so anymore. An article I once read said that crazy people don't worry about being crazy - that's the whole problem.

We wanted the freedom to love. We wanted the freedom to choose. Now we have to fight for it.

My stomach gets that hollowed-out feeling. It's amazing how words can do that, just shred your insides apart.

We stand there for a moment, looking at each other, and in that instant I feel our connection so strongly it's as though it achieves physical existence, becomes a hand all around us, cupping us together, protecting us. This is what people are always talking about when they talk about god: this feeling, of being held and understood and protected. feeling this way seems about as close to saying a prayer as you could get.

He who leaps for the sky may fall, it's true. But he may also fly.