Sometimes I think my papa is an accordion. When he looks at me and smiles and breathes, I hear the notes.

for some reason, dying men always ask the question they know the answer to. perhaps it's so they can die being right.

Sometimes I think my papa is an accordion. When he looks at me and smiles and breathes, I hear the notes.

Humans have a talent for escalation. -Death

It felt as though the whole globe was dressed in snow. Like it has pulled it on, the way you pull on a sweater. Next to the train line, footprints were sunken to their shins. Trees wore blankets of ice. As you may expect, someone has died.

As she watched all of this, Liesel was certain that these were the poorest souls alive. That's what she wrote about them . . . Some looked appealingly at those who had come to observe their humiliation, this prelude to their deaths. Others pleaded for someone, anyone to step forward and catch them in their arms. No one did.

It's not so much that the old friend is a better friend. It's just that you know the person better, and you know they don't really care if you're acting like a poor, grovelling idiot. They know you would do the same for them.