They see her differently now, as somebody. And isn't that what everyone wants? To be seen?

We sit and listen and are enthralled anew, for good stories, it seems, never lose their magic.

Who but the mad would choose to keep on living? In the end, aren't we all just a little crazy?

And for a moment, I understand that I have friends on this lonely path; that sometimes your place is not something you find, but something you have when you need it.

She hadn’t meant to get trapped in a conversation. That was the trouble with offering help to old people.

Eve didn't choose to eat the apple. She was tempted by the serpent." "Yes," I argue, thoughts coming out half-formed. "But...she didn't have to take a bite. She chose to.

And now I understand that truth casts a spell of its own, one I'm not sure of how to hold on to, though I'm desperate to try.