I was thinking about stabbing myself in the face—not actually considering stabbing myself in the face, but thinking that it would be a physical expression of how I felt.

Why were we never together anymore, just alone in each other's vicinity?

I wasn't sure if it was safe for me to be sharing time and space with other people, who all seemed so much gentler and safer and less of a secret to themselves than I felt I was.

I knew that my husband was a song that I had forgotten the words to and I was a fuzzy photograph of someone he used to love.

That's the thing about fiction, that you live in it totally for a little while, but you must forget it, sometimes totally forget it, in order to go about the rest of your day.

But we always avoided talking about these things—difficult things—and I wondered if that meant we'd be a little uncomfortable with or disappointed by each other for the rest of our lives.

Lately, I couldn't remember those years, as if childhood was a movie I'd only seen the previews to.

None of us know how to fix ourselves, at least not entirely, not well enough.

That boy never seemed to smile and he wore long sleeves year-round, and I was not so different from him—we were both unable to get near the real life in life.

I couldn't blame anyone for what was in me, because I am, like everyone, populated entirely by myself.

Everyone wants to feel like they could destroy a small-to-medium-to-large part of someone who loves them.

We need never be without hope because we can never be irreparably broken.

Tolerance was like one of those soothing creams—it drew out inflammation, it did away with the pain.

Intimacy is not a happy medium. It is a way of being in which the tension between distance and closeness is dissolved and a new horizon appears. Intimacy is beyond fear.

In order to truly give to others, you have to give to yourself first.

God is a questioner; Man is a philosopher.

Stay true to yourself and the answer will become clear

Empirical explorations ultimately change our understanding of which questions are important and fruitful and which are not.

Canadians are Americans with no Disneyland.

The profession to which we belong, once venerated...-has become corrupt and degenerate to the forfeiture of its social position.

Hey! Leave the door open will ya? The flies haven't been out all day.