“It is so often surprising, who rescues you at your lowest moments.”

The stories themselves haunt, they stick around, they linger, inhabiting a little corner of the reader’s brain and resurfacing to evoke mystery or sadness or longing.

I am the drying meadow; you the unspoken apology; he is the fluctuating distance between mother and son.

The wine glasses are empty except for that one undrinkable red spot at the bottom.

Large meadows are lovely for picnics and romping, but they are for the lighter feelings. Meadows do not make me want to write.

But the sky is interesting, it changes all the time.

I could feel the tears beginning to collect in my throat again, but I pushed them apart, away from each other. Tears are only a threat in groups.

If everything kept to its normal progression, we would live with the sadness-cry and then walk-but what really breaks us cleanest are the losses that happen out of order.

She is the first gesture that creates a quiet that is full enough to make the baby sleep. My genes, my love, are rubber bands and rope; make yourself a structure you can live inside. Amen.

That’s the thing with handmade items. They still have the person’s mark on them, and when you hold them, you feel less alone.

The most so far, because she found the saddest thing of all to be the simple truth of her capacity to move on.

We hit the sidewalk, and dropped hands. How I wished, right then, that the whole world was a street.

Not getting bored of my own story and/or character is one of the main struggles.

I didn’t mind the quiet stretches. It was like we were trying out the idea of being side by side.

It’s such a fraught and exciting and kind of horrible time.

Listen. Look. Desire is a house. Desire needs closed space. Desire runs out of doors or windows, or slats or pinpricks, it can’t fit under the sky, too large. Close the doors. Close the windows.

When language is treated beautifully and interestingly, it can feel good for the body: It’s nourishing; it’s rejuvenating.

These guys are really the lowest dogs around, and if people knew the truth about them, they would be held in more contempt than Ben Johnson, the runner, and they’re going to know the truth when I do this book!

Sometimes, the ocean floor is only a stop on the journey. And it is when you are at this lowest point, that you are faced with a choice. You can stay there at the bottom, until you drown. Or you can gather pearls and rise back up—stronger from the swim, and richer from the jewels.

Anything was better than nothing. Half-full was better than empty. Ignorance was the lowest form of humiliation and suffering.

What we call the highest and the lowest in nature are both equally perfect. A willow bush is as beautiful as the human form divine.

Divine love does not weigh down, nor carry his servant captive and enslaved to the lowest depths, but raises him, supports him and magnifies him above all liberty whatsoever.

Not only are the numbers of migrants entering the United States at the lowest levels in a generation, but they are now largely Central American.

I think the highest and lowest points are the important ones. Anything else is just…in between.