“There was no way to take the story back, folding it neatly into the place I'd keptit all this time. No matterwhat else happened, from here on out, I would always remember Wes, becausewith this telling, he'd become part of that story, of my story, too.”

“I keep telling this story - different people, different places, different times - but always you, always me, always this story, because a story is a tight rope between two worlds.”

“...that's the way to tell a true story from a made-up one. A made-up story always has a neat and tidy end. But true stories don't end, at least until their heroes and heroines die, and not then really because the things they did and didn't do, sometimes live on.”

“But as a wise and great teacher once explained so patiently, all good stories - stories that touch your soul, stories that change your nature, stories that cause you to become a better person from their telling-these stories always contain truth.”

“Telling a story ain’t hard,” Lettie had said. “All you need is a beginning, middle, and end.”But that was the problem. I was all middle. I’d always been between the last place and the next. How was I supposed to come up with a story for Sister Redempta or even a “Remember when…” to reminisce on with somebody else?”

“Gus knew. Gus knows. I will not tell you our love story, because—like all real love stories—it will die with us, as it should. I'd hoped that he'd be eulogizing me.”