When someone you love has died, there is a certain grace period during which you can get away with murder. Not literal murder, but pretty much anything else.

Do you need anything?" she asks. A mom A dad. Someone. Anyone. Can you arrange for that? "Nah, I'm good.

Get away from my house and all its rooms that echo, all the rooms I don't enter anymore.

Why she was the happy one when she was dying, and I just can't seem to manage anything when I'm living.

Because I'm living, and I sure as hell don't have a clue how to feel anything but empty.

Another deserted sentence. Another side effect of death. Words go AWOL.

No, I am not all right, I want to say. Have you been to my house? Have you seen how empty it is?

Because maybe it's in the stories that the people we love are still alive.

Because this is what I believe - that second chances are stronger than secrets. You can let secrets go. But a second chance? You don't let that pass you by.

But I am tired of everyone being gone, and I am tired of everything that has tired me out for the last five years of my life.

But I don't feel like dealing because dealing requires too much energy, and energy is what I lack.

It begs for a gospel of perseverance through inevitable failure... There is no antidote to the chaos of creative markets. Only the brute doggedness to endure it.

The Moon always finds an opportunity to turn our attention from the ground beneath our feet to the sky above our head!

My son is healthy and happy, so that's all that matters to me.

The people who need to overcome temptation to the highest degree have the hardest time doing it.

Become aware of the silent witness that is observing the unfolding of all the external events of your life. This eternal presence is your true Self.

If I'm going to be working out two hours a day, I may as well have a goal... and I'm pretty competitive by nature. A triathlon is a new fun thing.

In tantra, samsara is viewed as the same thing as nirvana. Eating a hamburger is meditation.

In writing for movies, you obviously want to resolve things and have a sense of completion at the end - in an ideal way.

Fate carries its own clock.

The age-old faith of lovers and poets in the power of love, stronger than death, that Finis vitae sed non amoris, is a lie, useless and not even funny.