The novelist helps us to see things we might not notice otherwise.

Death is contagious; it is contracted the moment we are conceived.

Sometimes when we have to speak suddenly we come closer to the truth than when we have time to think.

On the other side of pain, there is still love.

I love my mother, not as a prisoner of atherosclerosis, but as a person; and I must love her enough to accept her as she is, now, for as long as this dwindling may take.

We are all strangers in a strange land, longing for home, but not quite knowing what or where home is. We glimpse it sometimes in our dreams, or as we turn a corner, and suddenly there is a strange, sweet familiarity that vanishes almost as soon as it comes...

Don't try to comprehend with your mind. Your minds are very limited. Use your intuition.