After the two drinks, she felt warm inside, and slightly indistinct at the edges.

The world was made up of people putting one foot in front of the other; and a life might appear ordinary simply because the person living it had been doing so for a long time.

He understood that in walking to atone for the mistakes he had made, it was his journey to accept the strangeness of others. As a passerby, he was in a place where everything, not only the land, was open. People would feel free to talk, and he was free to listen. To carry a little of them as he went.

It was not a life, if lived without love.

There is so much to the human mind we don't understand. But, you see, if you have faith, you can do anything.

you could be ordinary and attempt something extraordinary, without being able to explain it in a logical way.

People were buying milk, or filling their cars with petrol, or even posting letters. And what no one else knew was the appalling weight of the thing they were carrying inside. The superhuman effort it took sometimes to be normal, and a part of things that appeared both easy and everyday. The loneliness of that.