I'd never known that I could feel this broken and whole at once.

There is never a guarantee of survival, no matter your strength or skill or wit. There is only the day you are conceived and the day you die, and all else is a series of moments you either embrace or endure.

What else has kept any of us going, but love of someone or the memory of that love?

We weren’t that different after all, our souls laden with the same ache of loss, our hearts bursting with the same longing to save what remained of all we loved.

Love does not always end well.