Sometimes you want to fall on your knees and thank God in heaven for all the poor news reporting that goes on in the world.

It takes a bee 10,000,000 trips to collect enough nectar to make 1 pound of honey.

Finally, I began to write about becoming an older woman and the trepidation it stirred. The small, telling "betrayals" of my body. The stalled, eerie stillness in my writing, accompanied by an ache for some unlived destiny. I wrote about the raw, unsettled feelings coursing through me, the need to divest and relocate, the urge to radically simplify and distill life into a new, unknown meaning.

Did you know there are thirty-two names for love in one of the Eskimo languages?" August said. "And we just have this one. We are so limited, you have to use the same word.

You are my everlasting home. Don't you ever be afraid. I am enough. We are enough.

It shocks me how I wish for...what is lost and cannot come back.

He'd gone to church for forty years and was only getting worse. It seemed like this should tell God something.