The tears that heal are also the tears that scald and scourge.

He remembered waking up once, listening to the wind, thinking of all the dark and rushing cold outside and all the warmth of this bed, filled with their peaceful heat under two quilts, and wishing it could be like this forever.

A person could see a lot without ever leaving his own living room. Especially if he had the right tools.

You say true, I say thankya.

He would write it for the reason he felt that all great literature, fiction and nonfiction, was written: truth comes out, in the end it always comes out. He would write it because he felt he had to.

But it's hard for a man to give up all his pleasures, even when they don't pleasure him no more.

It wasn't just love that held people together. There was secrets, and the price you paid to keep them.