If we couldn't carry our dead inside us, we would be empty.
Depression is like slashing at ghosts. Of course it's tempting to finally cut something real.
Home is where the heart is, until we get a chance to bury it. Home is where the heart pulled the nails out of its feet, and fled.
Happiness is not a house where you can live. (But it is a house you can build.)
You are never so low that you deserve to be lower.
Art isn't just paint and music, art is breaking glass and the sounds we make without realizing.
We are terrible for each other, and, yes, we are a disaster. But tell me your heart doesn't race for a hurricane or a burning building. I'd rather die terrified than live forever.
Death is not the end. Death is an ocean on all sides of our lives. Deep and dark and cold, and anything but empty.
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