It never failed to amaze me how the most ordinary day could be catapulted into the extraordinary in the blink of an eye.

When you love someone, you say their name different. Like it's safe inside your mouth.

I always hated when my scars started to fade, because as long as I could still see them, I knew why I was hurting.

Things that look impossible suddenly seem a lot better, once you get God on board.

Although you hadn't asked why, it had less to do with you not noticing than with you not wanting to hear the answer.

People ask all the time how I'm doing, but the truth is, they don't really want to know.

All any of us wanted, really, was to know that we counted. That someone else's life would not have been as rich without us here.

Maybe I was naïve to think that silence was implicit complacence, instead of a festering question. Maybe I was silly to believe that friends owed each other anything.

Doing the right thing for someone else occasionally means doing something that feels wrong to you.

What you didn't tell someone was just as debilitating as what you did.

I drew it over my skin like a violins bow, No one would ever hear the song of my shame.

How ghastly for her, people actually thinking, with their brains, and right next door. Oh, the travesty of it all.

Amé, fuí amado, el sol acarició mi faz.¡Vida, nada me debes! ¡Vida, estamos en paz!I loved, I was loved, the sun stroked my face.Life, you owe me nothing! Life, we are at peace!

Only when people are aware will they start to care.

Middle Age is that perplexing time of life when we hear two voices calling us, one saying, 'Why not?' and the other, 'Why bother?'

Every man is born as many men and dies as a single one.

I'm just glad it wasn't Machete Night.

In the culture we live in, there's this pervasive, shared agreement that there's a certain body type to admire, and it isn't actually based on anything real or substantive.

At first, writing for The New Yorker was very scary to me. I couldn't imagine anything that I would write in that typeface.

I don't think I've ever tried on a corset, though a certain bridesmaid's dress did require a torturous bustier that will stay forever burned in my sensory memory.