“She had a bottomless well of love for me.”

“She loved me coming and going, at my worst and at my best. She had a bottomless well of love for me.”

“I made such a fool of myself,” she lamented.“Love does not make you a fool.”“He didn’t love me back.”“That does not make you a fool, either.”“Just tell me …” Her voice cracked. “When does it stop hurting?”“Sometimes never.”

“She had been so consumed with escaping her own misery, she hadn't considered the misery she might inflict.”

“Tell me about your family," I said. And so she did. I listened intently as my mother went through each branch of the tree. Years later, after the funeral, Maria had asked me questions about the family - who was related to whom - and I struggled. I couldn't remember. A big chunk of our history had been buried with my mother. You should never let your past disappear that way.”

“She was like a wound beneath an old bandage, and he had grown more used to the bandage.”

“Love- the infatuation kind- 'he's so handsome, she's so beautiful'- that can shrivel. As soon as something goes wrong, that kind of love can fly out the window. ”