“I didn't feel empty. I wished I'd felt empty. ... I wanted to be empty like an overturned pitcher. But I was full like a stone.”

“I wanted to be empty like an overturned pitcher. But I was full like a stone.”

“In exchange for my silence, I want a box of quiet. Empty—and full.
That’s also how I like my morning coffee at night.”

“I imagine that's what being full-dead is like. And emptiness vast and absolute.”

“If I extend an empty hand and in retrieving it and finding it still empty, I feel disappointment, that is foolishness; yet if I extend a hand which is full and yet find no one to receive it, then that is hopelessness.”

“She'd cried over a broken heart before. She knew what that felt like, and it didn't feel like this. Her heart felt not so much broken as just ... empty. It felt like she was an outline empty in the middle. The outline cried senselessly for the absent middle. The past cried for the present that was nothing.”