Life's not fair; why should I be?

This is what I miss, Cordelia: not something that’s gone, but something that will never happen. Two old women giggling over their tea.

At the very least we want a witness. We can't stand the idea of our own voices falling silent finally, like a radio running down.

I've never bought into any sort of hard and fast, this-box/that-box characterization. People are individuals. Yes, they may be expected to be a particular way. But that doesn't mean they're going to be that way.

He needed to exist only in the present, without guilt, without expectation.

Now that I am dead, I know everything.

Like the trains, she's never on time and always departing.