You’re the storyteller and the story told. You are somebody’s something, but you are also your you. p 257
It had been a long time since her daughter had let her be so close. Parents, she thought, learned to survive touching their children less and less.
Goodbye, or rather, until we meet! I hug you tight as tight, and send you kisses without number. P 73
She felt, as she did most mornings, the deep pleasure of daily life distilled to the essentials: books, walks, spaces in which to think and work. P 10
I’ve never liked New Years. The trouble with beginnings is that there’s no such thing. p 10
It’s so weird how life is so full of moving around— people coming and going, people passing by each other all day long. You never know which person’s going to steal your heart. You never know which place is going to settle your soul. All you can do is look. And hope. And believe. P 307
She rises and stands looking out at the waves, overcome with the beauty. Her mind feels raw and receptive. She experiences a wide-open thankfulness, an unmediated wonder at the world. p 338
I stood at the top of the orchard and took one picture after another, lowering the camera in between to sigh and breathe the chill, pink air.
At some point I became aware of Toby standing off to one side of the outermost trees, watching me. P 26
It comes of flowing on so quiet, and of that there rippling at the boat’s head making sort of a Sunday tune. Maybe I’m growing a trifle old besides. p 466
For there was something very comfortable in having plenty of stationery. p 293