Too much virtue has a corrupting effect.

Lucky is the spouse who dies first, who never has to know what survivors endure.

Grief rolled across the space between us like a wash of salt water.

So much of the past in encapsulated in the odds and ends. Most of us discard more information about ourselves than we ever care to preserve. Our recollection of the past is not simply distorted by our faulty perception of events remembered but skewed by those forgotten. The memory is like twin orbiting stars, one visible, one dark, the trajectory of what's evident forever affected by the gravity of what's concealed.

You never know which people will affect your life.

I write letters to my right brain all the time. They're just little notes. And right brain, who likes to get little notes from me, will often come through within a day or two.

There's a certain class of people who will do you in and then remain completely mystified by the depth of your pain.