Pieces. Isn't that what all of life is anyway? Shards. Bits. Moments. Am I less because I have fewer, or do the few I have mean more?

Percentages! Those are for economists, polls, and politicians. Percentages can't define your identity.

I created an icicle sculpture in the snow. White on white.

Maybe staying on the surface keeps her from returning to a place where she can't breathe.

I thought grandmothers had to like you. It’s a law or something.

When your life has had few events to occupy it, it's amazing how a simple encounter can seem like an entire three-act play.

It's other people who make us wise, and I haven't known nearly enough.