I think living with the absence of someone we love is like living in front of a mountain from which a person - a speck in the distance, on some distance ridge - is perpetually waving.

I think we keep these moments of rejection and acceptance very close. I think we carry them always, like cracked shells from which a part of us once hatched.

It's tempting to imagine how we could hurt someone close, because it reminds us how fiercely we love them.

Coincidences mean you're on the right path.

Actually, years mean nothing. It's what's inside them.

Children are the closest we have to wisdom and they become adults the moment that final drop of everything mysterious is strained from them.

I want to feel it somehow happened like that because things happen for a reason. I want to believe this more than anything because if it were just an accident, then God must have died before he could finish the world.