Her life was her own now and if there was happiness to be found, it was up to her to seek it. She couldn’t, wouldn’t rely on anyone else ever again.
The death of a child forever scars a mother’s heart.
Love that isn’t faithful has little value. It really isn’t love at all.
You can’t bring back the past,” he said. The words were filled with regret. “No,” she agreed softly, “you can’t. Today, this minute. Now is all that matters.
This was the sign of a strong friendship, Nichole thought. They were content to be together without having to chat the whole time.
You don’t have to know how to sing. It’s feeling as though you want to that makes the day worthwhile.” – Coleman Cox.
God takes each one of us exactly where we are and so do I. Instead of focusing on the past, I prefer to look at the potential God has given each of us.
We all want to be loved, it’s a basic human being.
Twenty wishes that would help her recapture her excitement about life. Twenty dreams written down. Twenty possibilities that would give her a reason to look toward the future.
Of all the men you’ve dated over the years, Rowan’s the best. And better yet, he loves you. A lot. If you let him go, you’ll be sorry.
If God is your copilot, trade places.
For the first time since she died, I felt her presence instead of her absence. For two years my memories of her have been tied up with the agony of her death. I looked out at the ocean and felt a sense of life again. That desolate darkness I’d wrapped myself in was gone. The time had come to go back. Back to the world. Back to people. Back to my children. But mostly back to you.
Like anything else, friendship was an investment in time.
His hair was cut close on the sides and long on top, gathered into a neat man bun.
He said He would forgive us when we ask. If it’s peace of mind you’re seeking, it’s available.” “In church.” “No.” She pressed her hand over his heart. “You won’t find what you’re seeking in any building.
It’s hard when we can’t see each other’s smiles as we pass.
We hold on to our pain, our loss, our rejections, like a kid with a favorite toy. Why take the risk? Why get involved? It’s costly to let go of all the garbage we carry, the pain we’ve nursed like a colicky baby. That’s why we reject the very thing we want most. We’re afraid it might lead to something more, something good, and that’s what we find downright uncomfortable.
The ad had been the pivotal point of her life. It had forced her to take an honest look at her existence. She couldn’t bear to go on another day the way she had been. Pretending to be happy. Imagining so much that was never there and never would be unless she took action.
There was a certain comfort in denial. This fragile peace with her consciousness had to be maintained at all costs. Ignored and buried.
Loneliness was insidious. It knew no border or boundary, was without mercy, and couldn’t be bribed.
They stood half a kitchen apart physically, half a universe emotionally.