I used to think I preferred getting old to the alternative, but now I'm not sure. Sometimes the momotony of bingo and sing-alongs and ancient dusty people parked in the hallway in wheelchairs makes me long for death. Particularly when I rememver that I'm one of the ancient dusty people, filed away like some worthless tchotchke.

With a secret like that, at some point the secret itself becomes irrelevant. The fact that you kept it does not.

All right. Let's give you something to tell your grandkids about. Or great-grandkids. Or great-great-grandkids." I snort with glee, delirious with excitement. Charlie winks and pours me another finger's worth of whiskey. Then, on second thought, he tips the bottle again. I reach out and grab its neck. "Better not," I say. "Don't want to get tipsy and break a hip.

Honey, I plan to marry you the moment the ink is dry on that death certificate.

When two people are meant to be together, they will be together. It's fate.

The thought has cheered me, and I'd like to hang onto that. Must protect my little pockets of happiness.

...if you expect people to try to do things your way, you're going to have to give some hints as to what that way is.