“Did you ever walk in a room and forget why you walked in? I think that's how dogs spend their lives.”

“Did you ever walk through a room that's packed with people, and feel so lonely you can hardly take the next step?”

“You and I are walking in the snow. "Why are you walking backwards?" I ask. You point in the direction we came from. "So they'll think that's where I'm going." You point to where we're going. "And that's where I'm from.”

“We spend January 1st walking through our lives, room by room, drawing up a list of work to be done, cracks to be patched. Maybe this year, to balance the list, we ought to walk through the rooms of our lives...not looking for flaws, but for potential.”

“Never," Max said, again ignoring me. "Never did I walk into a room and see her dressed to go out and forget how to breathe like I did when I saw you before we went to The Rooster." I felt my eyes grow wide at this admission and I, too, forgot how to breathe.”

“If you don't say anything it can't become important, but if you say it everyone's ever after got to walk round it like a pile of rocks in the living room.”