I lived my grief; I slept mourning and ate sorrow and drank tears. I ignored all else.

Open your eyes. This horrible mess is your life. There is no sense in waiting for it to get better. Stop putting it off and live it.

The death of Nighteyes gutted me. I walked wounded through my life in the days that followed, unaware of just how mutilated I was. I was like the man who complains of the itching of his severed leg. The itching distracts from the immense knowledge that one will forever after hobble through life.

And tomorrow we'll do the same again. And again. Until one day you get up and find out that whatever it was didn't kill you after all.

I can teach you even if you hate me, or if you despise the lessons. I can teach you if you are bored, or lazy or stupid. But I can't teach you if you're afraid to speak to me. At least, not the way I want to teach you. And I can't teach you if you decide this is something you'd rather not learn.

Become indispensable to everyone on this journey. Then you will have reasons to go everywhere and hear everything and no one will question your presence,

His absence seemed a solid thing, a burden I must carry in addition to my grief... Yet I knew I would continue to live. Sometimes that knowledge seemed the worst part of my loss.

But if she is alone now, it is because she chose to be alone, not someone decree if for her. Her life is hers to live, not yours to repair.

We are as we are. How can you claim to know what life I was meant to lead, let alone threaten to force me into it? All your quibbling is nonsense. As well forbid your nose to snuff, or your ears to hear. We are as we do.