“Believe me, I had my share of "why" questions. I turned my eyes upward again and again, and in my heart I asked why I, an ordinary human, should be bearing such an extraordinary burden of pain and grief. Why I was the one picked to deal with such a tortuous twist of fate? It all seemed so unjust. I had reached a point where I had to get answers to some questions that were inside me. Shutting myself into the world of my heart and mind, I wondered, "Why? Why? Why?”

“I felt my heart breaking all over again. Why? Why had this happened to us? Why was the universe so cruel?”

“And why should he interest himself at all in my moral and intellectual capacities: what is it to him what I think and feel?' I asked myself. And my heart throbbed in answer to the question.”

“I struggle with the whys on my life. why her? why him? why me? I get frustrated with the things that are out of my control and I wonder why people don't deal with the things they can control.”

“There's no point in asking why, even though everybody will. I know why. The harder question is "why not?" I can't believe she ran out of answers before I did.”

“Lying in bed, half-covered by the blankets, I would drowsily ask why he had come to my door that night long ago. It had become a ritual for us, as it does for all lovers: where, when, why? remember...I understand even old people rehearse their private religion of how they first loved, most guarded of secrets. And he would answer, sleep blurring his words, "Because I had to." The question and the answer were always the same. Why? Because I had to.”