Forgive yourself. Forgive others. Don't wait.

One withers, another grows.

But my father, a thief in many ways, had robbed me of my concentration.

Everyone knows they re going to die,' he said again, 'but nobody believes it. If we did, we would do things differently.

Lost love is still love. It takes a different form, that's all. You can't see their smile or bring them food or tousle their hair or move them around a dance floor. But when those senses weaken another heightens. Memory. Memory becomes your partner. You nurture it. You hold it. You dance with it.

No life is a waste. The only time we waste is the time we spend thinking we're alone.

You've lived through a lot of wars, I said. "Yes." Do they ever make more sense? "No.