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

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.

On whose authority, who gives the right to religion, the law, medicine, the others, to choose on my behalf but without consulting me, the way, the place and the time I am allowed to die?

No matter how good you are, you're going to lose one-third of your games. No matter how bad you are you're going to win one-third of your games. It's the other third that makes the difference.

Everything that you have done has led up to what you are now. Everything you do now will lead up to what you will be.

There had never been a death so foretold.

What we see changes what we know. What we know changes what we see.

What we need is endless courage.

Birth dates and bathroom scales tell more truth than I want to know.

Power is tolerable only on condition that it mask a substantial part of itself. Its success is proportional to its ability to hide its own mechanisms.

There are more things to alarm us than to harm us, and we suffer more often in apprehension than reality.

Whatever came to mind, whatever came to hand, I would read.