- Because we were both writers and both worked at home our days were filled with the sound of each other’s voices
- the ability to make a note when something came to mind was the difference between being able to write and not being able to write
- For a thousand years in thy sight are but as yesterday when it is past
- I could avoid passing any intersection I could not anticipate, control
- Until now I had been able only to grieve, not mourn. Grief was passive. Grief happened. Mourning, the act of dealing with grief, required attention
- I started leaving lights on through the night. If the house was dark I could not get up to make a note or look for a book or check to make sure I had turned off the stove. If the house was dark I would lie there immobilized, entertaining visions of household peril, the books that could slide from the shelf and knock me down, the rug that could slip in the hallway, the washing machine hose that could have flooded the kitchen unseen in the dark, the better to electrocute whoever turned on a light to check the stove.
- Self-pity remains both the most common and the most universally reviled of our character defects, its pestilential destructiveness accepted as given