“I’d have given any- thing to know how Mom and Dad were, but you can’t ask your parents such questions. You have to wait for them to tell you what it is that will happen next...”

“Your life is given to you by your parents. If you don't want to live, you have to ask them first.”

“She studied my face for a long minute. "Are you going to help my mom?" It was a simple question. But how do you tell a child that things just aren't that simple, that some questions don't have simple answers--or any answer at all?”

“If you've got kids, hug 'em like it's the last day. Go hug your parents. Go hug your best friends. And if you have any beef with anybody even from 10 years ago, tell them you're sorry and love them because you never know what's going to happen.”

“Mom and Dad exchange a nervous glance and have a telepathic conversation about it. I hear every word. Do we let her out? It's past curfew. True, but look at that—at least she asked! I know! I can hardly believe it! She could have sneaked out, but she asked! I know! We're good parents! "What time will you be back?" Dad asks.”

“What do you have that was not given to you? And if it was given, how can you boast as if it were your own?”