Books, I found, had the power to make time stand still, retreat or fly into the future.
Death is as casual-and often as unexpected-as birth. It is as difficult to define grief as joy. Each is finite. Each will fade.
It is difficult to live in the present, ridiculous to live in the future, and impossible to live in the past. Nothing is as far away as one minute ago.
Nobody understands anyone 18, including those who are 18.
The truth which makes men free is for the most part the truth which men prefer not to hear.
When you read about a car crash in which two or three youngsters are killed, do you pause to dwell on the amount of love and treasure and patience parents poured into bodies no longer suitable for open caskets