He is not the same person as when wemet, but . . . neither am I. Time has refined us, but instead of pushing us apart, we’re closer than ever.

More than most, I know the pain of surviving.

. . . and I don’t expect him to suborn his life into mine any more than I would change my dreams for him. We’re not one soul, one being, however much we love each other.

For I need this scar over my heart to remind me. Crazy as it sounds, if I can bear the wound on my body, it lessens what I must carry on my soul. How he knew that about me, I cannot fathom.

Survival feels like cowardice.

What you said about the sweetest pain? That fits us.

For love to flourish there has to be trust. Promises don’t matter as much aspersonal choice.

This guilt is a joke, and it’s exhausting to watch you martyr yourself.

The silence of a wounded soul roars louder than any tempest...

. . . distant as the death of grocery chickens.

Well I don't write, I attempt to scribble here and there. And no, nothing ever so grand as being published.

Man wants three things; life, knowledge, and love.

loneliness is a twilight moment by feelings, longing after something or someone you can not reach

You're always in the storm's eye, so to speak, when you're with the Yankees.

The world is a progressively realized community of interpretation.

My parents own a restaurant in Albuquerque.

Both sides are divided and Western countries collaborate with Muslim countries and vice versa.

Remorse is the pain of sin.