If there were no emptiness, there would be no life.

Potential has a shelf life.

A home filled with nothing but yourself. It's heavy, that lightness. It's crushing, that emptiness.

Things that are falling apart encourage me: whatever else, I’m in better shape than they are.

And then she began to cry, and when I asked her why she was doing that, she said it was because I was to have a happy ending, and it was just like a book; and I wondered what books she'd been reading.

I am alive, I live, I breathe, I put my hand out, unfolded, into the sunlight.

Why cry, you should be happy, you got out. But after all that’s happened to me since that day, I understand why. You hold it in, whatever it is, until you can make it through the worst part. Then, once you’re safe, you can cry all the tears you couldn’t waste time crying before.

Life is warped. I'm just in sync.

You think you can get rid of things, and people too--leave them behind. You don't know yet about the habit they have, of coming back.