“Everybody was strange. In a fit of frustration, she scratched out strange and wrote the word CRACKPOTS in big letters.”

“I hope you never hear those words. Your mom. She died. They are different than other words. They are too big to fit in your ears. They belong to some strange, heavy, powerful language that pounds away at the side of your head, a wrecking ball coming at you again and again, until finally, the words crack a hole large enough to fit inside your brain. And in so doing, they split you apart. ”

“She recognized the strange happiness that came from loving something without knowing why you did, that strange happiness that was sometimes so big that it felt like sadness. It was the way she felt when she looked at the stars.”

“Letters of the condemned. Last words scratched on a cell’s wall. To write like that.”

“Strange to see how a good dinner and feasting reconciles everybody.”

“Letters always frustrate me with what's left out.”