With age comes acumen. With experience comes insight.

But it's funny how the memory works and how sometimes we just belive whatever we want.

And though some days it is very hard, I try not to live for the future. And I try not to dream of the past.

During the war, I promised the dead I would never forget them. I stared at them, barely able to move myself. Pretended I was one of them. To this day I can recall the light in the ruins.

She didn't care so much whether the world would ever forgive her people; but she did hope that someday, somehow, she would be able to forgive herself.

A day doesn't go by when I don't look at them, she said. I can't have them up on the kitchen refrigerator or in a frame in the bedroom--I just can't do it, I just can't run into them casually when I'm supposed to be doing something else--but I also can't last a day without seeing them. Visiting with them when I am alone in the house.

...this was why men fell in love with strippers and escorts: it wasn't the licentiousness, the dissembling, their craven willingness to do whatever you wanted. It was the way they would, out of the blue, surprise you with the psychic ability to know what you needed.

And just as there is random horror-murder,suicide,child abuse,car accidents.......there is also indiscriminate kindness.Not merely miracles,though I have experienced them.But simple human connection,either brokered by an angel or sourced by one.That is why I try to encourage people to be receptive to that new person who seems to have appeared in their life out of nowhere.

Food is a gift and should be treated reverentially--romanced and ritualized and seasoned with memory.

Sara knew that behind its locked front door no home was routine. Not the house of her childhood, not the apartment of her husband's. not the world they were building together with Willow and Patrick. All households had their mysteries, their particular forms of dysfunction.

In America, Walt Disney opened an amusement park.And in Florence, someone was savaging the remnants of a Tuscan nobleman’s family.

Seriously,” the banker went on, “what do you investigate? I have a feeling you do more than find stray kittens and bring home lost babies.”“Murder.

The world is filled with human toxins -- not the darkness that we all occasionally crave, but actually people who are so unwilling to bask in the angelic light that is offered us all that they grow poisonous -- and you can pray for their eventual recovery and healing. And sometimes those prayers will be answered. But sometimes these individuals have been vaccinated against goodness and against angels and they are so unwilling to give an inch to their God that often they never (and I use this expression absolutely literally) see the light.

Though angels were easy to finds in cemeteries, she said that she didn't especially care for funereal angels and tombstone cherubs -- she wanted her angels among the living, not watching over the already dead -- and thus she scoured parks and gardens for the angels with whom, on some level, she wanted to commune.

We may talk a good game and write even better ones, but we never outgrow those small wounded things we were when we were five and six and seven.

So you’re positive the killer is a man.”“Yes, I think my gender can take responsibility for this one. Women don’t cut out other women’s hearts.”“We can.