I wished she'd been smart enough, or loving enough, to realize everybody has burdens that crush them, only they don't give up their children.

My mother's life was way too heavy for me.

The world depends upon the small beating in your heart.

I could even feel how perishable all my moments really were, how all my life they had come to me begging to be lived, to be cherished even.

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

Place a beehive on my grave And let the honey soak through. When I'm dead and gone, That's what I want from you. The streets of heaven are gold and sunny, But I'll stick with my plot and a pot of honey. Place a beehive on my grave And let the honey soak through.

How could I choose someone who would force me to give up my own small reach for meaning? I chose myself, and without consolation.