“You're so beautiful," said Alice. "I'm afraid of looking at you and not knowing who you are.""I think that even if you don't know who I am someday, you'll still know that I love you.""What if I see you, and I don't know that you're my daughter, and I don't know that you love me?""Then, I'll tell you that I do, and you'll believe me.”

“And you, Mom. I loved you. You've asked if i felt and understood that you loved me. of course I did. And you know this. I loved your love because it kept me safe and happy and wanted, and it existed beyond words and hugs and eyes.”

“I want you to admit just once what you feelfor me. I want to know if you'll miss me evena little. If you'll remember me. If you're sorryfor anything.”

“I’ve been so focused on what’s horrible and unfair and terrifying about my condition that I hadn’t acknowledged what is positive about my condition, as if the positive had been sitting quietly by itself on the far edge of the left side of my condition, there but completely ignored. I can’t copy a whole cat. But I can recognize it, name it, know what one sounds and feels like, and I can copy most of it, enough for anyone who looks at it to know what I’ve drawn. I am lucky.”

“Alice: I miss myself.John: I miss you too, Ali, so much.”

“The reason I know you don't love me, is because the day I walked out your door, you didn't stop me. ”

“My mother’s cure for a lifetime of regret lies within the words I forgive you, spoken only by me. I intuitively know this, but some part of me, old and wounded and needing a miracle cure of its own, resists this generosity and won’t allow the words to leave my head. And even then, before they can be spoken, they’d have to make the long journey from my head to my heart if they’re to earn the sincerity they’d need to be effective.”