How it seemed like you could see everything, but certain things were blocked out, hidden.

Accepting all the good and bad about someone. It's a great thing to aspire to. The hard part is actually doing it.

My sister, who never understood most of the things I wanted her to, might have been able to understand what had happened to me in this summer of weddings and beginnings. And she was right. The first boy was always the hardest.

But that was the problem with having the answers. It was only after you gave them that you realized they sometimes weren't what people wanted to hear.

"Which is completely out-of-line behavior. Then you are wholly within your rights to stomp on their foot." "No," Delia said, over her shoulder. "Actually, you're not. Just excuse yourself as politely as possible, and get out of arm's reach." Kristy looked at me, shaking her head. "Stomp them." she said, under her breath. "Really."

Some things don't last forever, but some things do. Like a good song, or a good book, or a good memory you can take out and unfold in your darkest times, pressing down on the corners and peering in close, hoping you still recognize the person you see there.

She said writting novels was like childbirth: if you truly remembered how awful it got, you'd never do it again.