She feels as if her heart may burst.

I may not have had closure, but I have tasted wisdom. Anyone who has had their heart broken or even just bruised, has learned that there is a finality in the facts.

Your heart never forgets your mother.

People are much like those stars up there. Some burn faintly for millions of years, barely visible to us on earth. They’re there, but you’d hardly know it. They blend in, like a speck on a canvas. But others blaze with such intensity, they light up the sky. You can’t help but notice them, marvel at them. Those are the ones that never last long. They can’t. They use up all their energy quickly.

Nerver underestimate the power of flowers to reach someone’s soul.

It’s just old black-and-whites,′ she had said, flicking her wrist in the way one might dismiss a pile of junk mail. ‘Relatives nobody remembers.’ ‘No,’ I said, running to the box. ‘Don’t throw them out. I’ll keep them.’ I may not have known the names of the majority of the ancestors pictured inside, but it felt like a betrayal to send their memories to the landfill. I couldn’t bear the thought.

The city loves you when you’re flying high and kicks you when you’re down.

There is so much beauty here, and yet it’s hardly even acknowledged.

Love, she thinks, is not meant for her.

The truth of the matter is that we always know the right thing to do. The hard part is doing it.