And I knew I would nevr have that everything's-right-in-my-world feeling again.

Sometimes it was hard to express how much you loved someone. You said the words, but you could never quite capture the depth of it. You could never quite hold someone tightly enough.

Every family has a story, and I love that those stories are etched in sand rather than granite. That way we can change them. We can bury the lies and embrace the truth. And we can move forward.

No matter how many people care about you, she thought, if you can't be open with them about who you truly are, you're still alone.

I'd been a terrific student. I hadn't wasted a moment of my time in school, and I knew plenty about healing the troubled mind. But no one had taught me a thing about healing the soul

Sometimes coloring outside the lines can cost you. Only you can figure out if it’s worth it.

You got dealt some crappy cards. But you're the one who has to decide how to play them.

It's just that I've learned that somebody's appearance doesn't always match what's going on inside him. You can't look at a guy's face and see his demons.

If you have a friend, a good friend, a woman you love, and you learn she’s done something abominable, do you stop loving her?

She felt happy these days, yet there was always an undercurrent of sadness just below the surface

You and me, " I said, "we both got the same kind of hurt inside us."She nodded, and suddenly, just like that, I knew I could trust her with my life.

We all get to discover who we really are at some point, and when we do, it can be quite unsettling.

Especially difficult when the first and best unconscious move of a dedicated liar is to persuade himself he's sincere. And once he's sincere, all deception vanishes.

It was almost enough to make me turn vegetarian, except for the pesky fact that I loved cheeseburgers.

We are here because the world needs heroes.

Make mistakes faster.

All that philosophers have handled for millennia has been conceptual mummies; nothing actual has ever escaped from their hands alive.

I do not know but thoughts written down thus in a journal might be printed in the same form with greater advantage than if the related ones were brought together into separate essays.

From an aunt, long ago: "Death has come for me many times but finds me always in my lovely garden and leaves me there, I think, as an excuse to return.

Lest when I am gone you may be at a loss for an epitaph for me, let me give you one - He Fed Fevers.

There's a pretty woman for ever lucky man in the world: every man in the world is a lucky man if he only knew it, so why waste time?