On impulse he might die for her, but living for her would be quite different. He has no talent for monotony.

He loved her; in some ways he was devoted to her. But he couldn't reach her, and it was the same on her side. It was as if they'd drunk some fatal potion that would keep them forever apart, even though they lived in the same house, ate at the same table, slept in the same bed.

You all right? he said again. I didn't love him, I was far away from him, it was as though I was seeing him through a smeared window or glossy paper; he didn't belong here. But he existed, he deserved to be alive. I was wishing I could tell him how to change so he could get there, the place where I was. Yes, I said. I touched him on the arm with my hand. My hand touched his arm. Hand touched arm. Language divides us into fragments, I wanted to be whole.

A house divided against itself could not stand.

The more difficult it was to love the particular man beside us, the more we believed in Love, abstract and total.

Also I could hear Amanda's voice: Why are you being so weak? Love's never a fair trade. So Jimmy's tired of you, so what, there's guys all over the place like germs, and you can pick them like flowers and toss them away when they're wilted. But you have to act like you're having a spectacular time and every day's a party.

Besides, who would think of marrying a mothball? A question my mother put to me often, later, in other forms.

Free love," Aunt Beatrice said scornfully. "It's never free. There's always a price.

This is the holy reasoning of love; it draws no license from grace, but rather feels the strong constraints of gratitude leading it to holiness.

Thanksgiving reminds us that no matter our differences, we're still one people, part of something bigger than ourselves.

There must be a stronger foundation than mere friendship or sexual attraction. Unconditional love, agape love, will not be swayed by time or circumstances.

I don't think quantity time is as special as quality time with your family.