“You know how I get angry sometimes? That's because it's the only way I can still feel. And I need to test myself, to make sure I'm really here.”

“I'm blessed and I couldn't be more grateful. Do you want to know why? Because I'm a mother, but that's only half of it. I'm blessed because, when I need to, I can still just be a daughter. I get the feeling that there is nothing more precious than to have both of these roles, simultaneously.”

“When I'm depressed I'll lie to myself to make me feel better. But really, it's ok, because depression only sometimes gets the best of me.”

“I'm not saying I'm a liar,' I told him. He raised his eyebrows. 'That's not how I meant it, anyway.''How'd you mean it, then?'I was digging myself a hole here, and I knew it. But still, I tried to explain myself. 'It's just... I don't always say what I feel.''Why not?''Because the truth sometimes hurts,' I said.'Yeah,' he said. 'So do lies, though.”

“Eddie, It's like you died that night," he whispers.So that's it. I died.I've been dead.I blink back the tears and pick at the mattress, but I don't say anything. I don't know what I could say to him. I don't know how to convince him I'm still here when I'm not sure of it myself anymore.”

“The fact that he does not tell me the truth all the time makes me not sure of his truth at certain times, and then I work to figure out for myself if what he is telling me is the truth or not, and sometimes I can figure out that it's not the truth and sometimes I don't know and never know, and sometimes just because he says it to me over and over again I am convinced it is the truth because I don't believe he would repeat a lie so often. Maybe the truth does not matter, but I want to know it if only so that I can come to some conclusions about such questions as: whether he is angry at me or not; if he is, then how angry; whether he still loves her or not; if he does, then how much; whether he loves me or not; how much; how capable he is of deceiving me in the act and after the act in the telling.”