I made such a fool of myself,” she lamented. “Love does not make you a fool.” “He didn’t love me back.” “That does not make you a fool, either.” “Just tell me …” Her voice cracked. “When does it stop hurting?” “Sometimes never.

...You can go your whole life collecting days, and none will outweigh the one you wish you had back.

I think what you notice most when you haven’t been home in a while is how much the trees have grown around your memories.

Every life has one true love snapshot.

What in life can love not penetrate?

In heaven, there is no judgment, but rather an opportunity to examine our lives-who we touched, the choices we made, and the consequences of those choices.

If you want to be a good writer, make sure you read. I'm amazed by how many people don't bother to do that.