“What a beautiful disaster.”

“Life wasn't meant to be perfect. It was messy and sometimes it was a disaster, but there was beauty in the messiness and there could be peace in the disaster.”

“You two are a disaster.” I smiled at the ceiling. “It doesn’t matter what or why it is. When it’s good, Kara … it’s beautiful.”

“Everything was okay. Maybe not perfect, but life wasn’t meant to be perfect. It was messy and sometimes it was a disaster, but there was beauty in the messiness and there could be peace in the disaster.”

“Everything was okay. Maybe not perfect, but life wasn't meant to be perfect. It was messy and sometimes it was a disaster, but there was beauty in the messiness and there could be peace in the disaster.”

“And she thought then how strange it was that disaster—the sort of disaster that drained the blood from your body and took the air out of your lungs and hit you again and again in the face—could be at times, such a thing of beauty.”