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The nice thing about living in a small town is that when you don’t know what you’re doing, someone else does.
When you went home, you came back to the person you used to be, for better or worse.
“The dead don’t want us to mourn, Harry.” She squeezed his hands again. “They don’t want for anything; they’re with God.”
“We shouldn’t do anything for the dead. We have only one job on this earth, and it has to do with the living: we must love those put in our path as hard as we can, every day.”
“It’s free to be mean, but it pays to be kind,”
Some words, if you waited too long, could no longer be spoken.
“According to Carl Jung, dealing with darkness in others requires knowing our own darkness,”
“Family is safety! When it’s not that, it’s not family.”
Maybe that’s what family was. Not the people you’d been born to but the people you’d do the right thing for no matter what it cost you. The people you’d risk everything to protect.
