I hadn’t realized how much I’d been needing to meet someone I might be able to say everything to.
There is love in holding and there is love in letting go.
I think, actually, that none of us understands anyone else very well, because we’re all too shy to show what matters the most. If you ask me, it’s a major design flaw. We ought to be able to say, Here, look what I am. I think it would be quite a relief.
When you take the small roads you see the life that goes on there, and this makes your own life larger.
You know before you know, of course. You are bending over the dryer, pulling out the still-warm sheets, and the knowledge walks up your backbone. You stare at the man you love and you are staring at nothing; he is gone before he is gone.
Come over here and light me a cigarette,” she’d said. I’d snuck a little inhale, and my mother had smiled. But then she’d said, “Don’t get started with something you won’t be able to do without.
For what reason would I lie to one I so love?
My mother lost too much and repaired herself in the only way she was able to repair herself. That in fact she is repairing herself, hour by hour.
Books educate and inspire, and they soothe souls – like comfort food without the calories.
This is the way things work sometimes, that good things get ideas from each other, say, well now let’s go ahead and let her have it all.
I’m sorry! It’s just that it hurts so much and it never stops!
We live but a short time, at the longest. How do we make our lives mean something? If we die in glory, with our minds and our hearts fixed on achieving a great goal, we have lived a life that mattered.
This is life, uh? We lose something here; we get something there. The trick is to stop looking in the old place to find the new thing.