I realized it for the first time in my life: there is nothing but mystery in the world, how it hides behind the fabric of our poor, browbeat days, shining brightly, and we don't even know it.

And I was struck all at once how life was out there going through its regular courses, and I was suspended, waiting, caught in a terrible crevice between living my life and not living it.

I felt amazed at the choosing one had to do, over and over a million times daily--choosing love, then choosing it again...how loving and being in love could be so different.

Novels attempt to render human experience; that's really all they are. They are meant to convey empathy for the character.

Sunset is the saddest light there is.

Into every life a little rain must fall.

You can't stop your heart from loving, really -- it's like standing out there in the ocean yelling at the waves to stop.