“Nothing haunts us like the things we don’t say.”

Each affects the other, and the other affects the next, and the world is full of stories, but the stories are all one.

I give myself a good cry if I need it. But then I concentrate on the good things still in my life. I don’t allow myself any more self-pity than that. A little each every morning, a few tears, and that’s all.

Once heaven is done with grandma, we’d like her back, thanks.

But fates are connected in ways we don’t understand.

When someone is in your heart, they’re never truly gone. They can come back to you, even at unlikely times.

When you come to the end, that’s where God begins.

Heaven is always and forever around us and no soul remembered is ever really gone.

It is far more comforting to think God listened and said no, than to think that nobody’s out there.

Heaven can be found in the most unlikely corners.

You can find something truly important in an ordinary minute.

Don’t let go too soon, but don’t hold on too long.

The way you get meaning into your life is to devote yourself to loving others, devote yourself to your community around you, and devote yourself to creating something that gives you purpose and meaning.

You can’t get stuck on what should have happened. That doesn’t help you.

The news of life is carried via telephone. A baby’s birth, a couple engaged, a tragic car accident on a late night highway – most milestones of the human journey, good or bad, are foreshadowed by the sound of a ringing.

You need to keep people close. You need to give them access to your heart.

The pain we suffer is a way to make us appreciate what comes next.

Your darkness is hauntingly beautiful. Mesmerizing.

All those years now mean nothing besides lessons and memories. Eventually they’ll fade, you’ll fade, and the scars that once haunted me will be mere trophies of my resilience.

Night falls, and the wounds we try to pretend we don’t have begin to haunt us.

The hungry and the haunted explode in a rock’n’roll band.

Sometimes, I don’t know what haunts me more – the memories of you, or the happy person I used to be.

Any pride or haughtiness, is displeasing to us, merely because it shocks our own pride, and leads us by sympathy into comparison, which causes the disagreeable passion of humility.

Your power, undermined, your strength, underrated, your shine, hauntingly bright.

He treated her like a ghost, not wonder her memory haunted him long after she was gone.