...you found you were saying yes when you meant no, and “We’ve got to be together in this thing” when you meant the very opposite ... and then you were face to face, in total darkness, with the knowledge that you didn’t know who you were. And how could anyone else be blamed for that?

if you wanted to do something absolutely honest, something true, it always turned out to be a thing that had to be done alone.

A man could rant and smash and grapple with the State Police, and still the sprinklers whirled at dusk on every lawn and the television droned in every living room.

People did change, and a change could be a bloom as well as a withering.

He found it so easy and so pleasant to cry that he didn’t try to stop for a while, until he realized he was forcing his sobs a little, exaggerating their depth with unnecessary shudders. … The whole point of crying is to quit before you coined it up. The whole point of grief itself was to cut it out while it was still honest, while it still meant something. Because the thing was so easily corrupted

Dying for love might be pitiable, but it wasn't much different, finally, from any other kind of dying.

if you don’t try at anything, you can’t fail… it takes back bone to lead the life you want