The important thing is not whatever nonsense the voices are saying, but what the voices are feeling.
The dead are visible only in the terrible lidless eye of memory. The living, thank heaven, retain the ability to surprise and to disappoint.
Sometimes, you read a book and it fills you with this weird evangelical zeal, and you become convinced that the shattered world will never be put back together unless and until all living humans read the book.
Sometimes people don’t understand the promises they’re making when they make them. Right, of course. But you keep the promise anyway. That’s what love is. Love is keeping the promise anyway.
Some tourists think Amsterdam is a city of sin, but in truth it is a city of freedom. And in freedom, most people find sin.
So everything happens for a reason and we’ll all go live in the clouds and play harps and live in mansions?