“And life goes on, which seems kind of strange and cruel when you're watching someone die.”

“I think we're made up of all these different pieces and every time someone goes, you're left with less of yourself.”

“...women are elephants and watch the way you say that in front of them because they'll think you're calling them fat and there's no coming back from that moment. But they hoard. They say they don't, but they do. We think that if something's not spoken about again, it goes away. It doesn't. Nothing goes away just like that...”

“Does it help?” he asks. “The e-mailing.”She nods. “A tiny bit. It’s strange. You’re writing a letter to someone who’s never going to read it, so it kind of frees you up a bit.”

“A piece of me is gone," she told me once while we were bra shopping. "I think we're made up of all these different pieces and every time someone goes, you're left with less of yourself.”

“Someone asked us later, "Didn't you wonder why no one came across you sooner?"Did I wonder?When you see your parents zipped up in black body bags on the Jellicoe Road like they're some kind of garbage, don't you know?Wonder dies.”

“Someone had to be blamed. Someone had to die. (...) What you can't understand, you destroy.”