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"He kissed her so gently she wondered if she had imagined it."

"To say there had been a loss was ludicrous; one lost a shoe or a set of keys. You did not suffer the death of a child and say there was a loss. There was a catastrophe. A devestation. A hell."

"[He] closed his eyes. How could he convey to someone who'd never even met her the way she always smelled liek rain, or how his stomach knotted up every time he saw he shake loose her hair from its braid? How could he describe how it felt when she finished his sentences, turned the mug they were sharing so that her mouth landed where his had been? How did he explain the way they could be in a locker room, or underwater, or in the piney woods..., but as long as [she] was with him, he was at home?"

"He tried to pretend that he did not feel the weight of her grief, lying between them like a fitfull child, so solid that he could not reach past it to touch her."

"She closed her eyes while he touched her with all the care in the world, and she started to heal."

"Being a mother gives you a singular sort of vision, a prism through which you can see your child with many different faces all at once. It is the reason you can watch him shatter a ceramic lamp, and still remember him as an angel. Or hold him as he cries, but imagine his smile. Or watch him walk toward you, the size of a man, and see the dimpled skin of an infant."

"When you love someone you let them take care of you."

"When you loved someone, you put their needs before your own."

"Do you know... what it's like to love someone so much, that you can't see yourself without picturing [them]? Or what it's like to touch someone, and feel like you've come home?"

"...and he suddenly knew that if she killed herself, he would die. Maybe not immediately, maybe not with the same blinding rush of pain, but it would happen. You couldn't live for very long without a heart."