I cried in English, I cried in french, I cried in all the languages, because tears are the same all around the world.

When I was fifteen, a dark shape came into my room at night. It was dark, but it glowed, which is the first of many facts you will have to tackle with your imagination. It wasn't in the shape of a person, but right away I knew it was like a person in every way except for how it looked. As it turns out, our looks are not the main thing that makes us human.

All I ever really want to know is how other people are making it through life—where do they put their body, hour by hour, and how do they cope inside of it.

This pain, this dying, this is just normal. This is how life is. In fact, I realize, there never was an earthquake. Life is just this way, broken, and I am crazy for dreaming of something else.

She never inquired, but she never recoiled, either. This is a quality that I look for in a person, not recoiling.

Things usually make sense in time, and even bad decisions have their own kind of correctness.

I could not make a move without making love.