“Making a FistFor the first time, on the road north of Tampico,I felt the life sliding out of me,a drum in the desert, harder and harder to hear.I was seven, I lay in the carwatching palm trees swirl a sickening pattern past the glass.My stomach was a melon split wide inside my skin."How do you know if you are going to die?"I begged my mother.We had been traveling for days.With strange confidence she answered,"When you can no longer make a fist."Years later I smile to think of that journey,the borders we must cross separately,stamped with our unanswerable woes.I who did not die, who am still living,still lying in the backseat behind all my questions,clenching and opening one small hand.”

“You was the onlyest person that looked past my skin and past my meanness and saw that there was somebody on the inside worth savin...We all has more in common than we think. You stood up with courage and faced me when I was dangerous, and it changed my life. You loved me for who I was on the inside, the person God meant for me to be, the one that had just gotten lost for a while on some ugly roads in life.”

“A thousand years from now nobody is going to know that you or I ever lived. The cynic is right, but lazy. He says ‘You live, you die and nothing you do will ever make a difference.’ But as long as I live, I’m going to be like Beethoven and shake my fist at fate and try to do something for those who live here now and who knows how far into the future that will go. If I accomplish nothing more than making my arm sore, at least I will be satisfied that I have lived.”

“Dear God,I am so afraid to open my clenched fists!Who will I be when I have nothing left to hold on to?Who will I be when I stand before you with empty hands?Please help me to gradually open my handsand to discover that I am not what I own,but what you want to give me.”

“Death can be a very liberating thing, especially when you are still among the living. Knowing that you will die frees you from the crushing burden that is Life, and yes, we all know that we are going to die, but we don't all accept that fact; we don't all live with that comforting knowledge. Instead, we strive in vain to be that one person who never dies, clawing away for that position that will ensure our immortality. The journey of Life is to meet Death on our own terms, and once that can be accepted, the world is wide open. - The Reflecting Pond; Insights of Alsop Tambor”

“This is my first real memory of James. In every memory before that, he’s just a flash of color, a warm body with a blurred face, a comforting voice begging me not to die. When he planted himself between our father and me that day, an eight-year-old with small fists clenched at his sides, I think I fell in love with my brother.”