The parts of our lives when we write them down seem to belong in different books, by different writers even. What all these bits and pieces make up I don't know. There is no plot. Perhaps meaning is something we invent afterward, putting it all together, like imagined God.

It is what writers do, imagine and feel the pain of others, sometimes at the expense of feeling their own. Here, then, in these pages is mine, the fear of death, of loss, of unexpressed love. Here is the truth told in a story. And in the telling of it perhaps I have found some way to have courage, to believe.

Noi siamo la nostra storia, la raccontiamo per rimanere vivi o mantenere in vita quelli che raccontiamo

Umoristica (materna): "Aveva la dote più apprezzata dei neonati, ovvero l'Arte Di Mettere Su Peso