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You had to maximize joy when it fluttered into your life. You had to honor it. And savor it. And not stomp it to death by reminding everyone of everything you’d lost.
That’s why I did not trust Sylvie to take over.
I love how the author made it clear why Emma can’t just go—it’s not just because she wants to be selfless but because she’s been doing this caretaking for a decade and has mastered the art of it; it’s not something she can’t just turn over in a short period of time.
Oh, god. I really was my own worst enemy.
And despite everything, seeing him in real life like that had a seismic effect on my body. Like the nearness of him was causing fractures and fissures at deep, subterranean levels.
I had a theory that we gravitate toward the stories we need in life. Whatever we’re longing for—adventure, excitement, emotion, connection—we turn to stories that help us find it. Whatever questions we’re struggling with—sometimes questions so deep, we don’t even really know we’re asking them—we look for answers in stories.
indeed, books serve us the fantasies we need, the dreams we couldn’t reach and the lives we wanna live.
“Whatever story you tell yourself about your life, that’s the one that’ll be true.”
“Here’s another thing I accidentally figured out: happiness is always better with a little bit of sadness.”
I wept for luck and for beauty and for kindness—and for the magic of being alive.
It’s all about the details you notice. And the joys you savor. And the hope you refuse to give up on.
It’s all about writing the very best story of your life. Not just how you live it—but how you choose to tell it.

