You’re the storyteller and the story told. You are somebody’s something, but you are also your you. p 257
She whittled down her life until the only thing left to remove was herself.
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.
I am the captain of my fate, I am the master of my soul.
Goodbye, or rather, until we meet! I hug you tight as tight, and send you kisses without number. P 73
I had been worried that I wouldn’t get through the day without cracking, myself.
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
Here’s a picture of their house as it was then.
I’ve never liked New Years. The trouble with beginnings is that there’s no such thing. p 10
She said cryptically, “It used to be wild here. And green.”