...things get broken, and sometimes they get repaired, and in most cases, you realize that no matter what gets damaged, life rearranges itself to compensate for your loss, sometimes wonderfully.

What would it mean to do enough, I wondered, as I had wondered before about that obligation to others that seems so clear and sometimes disappears altogether, so that now we owe nothing, anything we give is too much, and now our debt is beyond all counting.

It is a fearful thing to love what death can touch. A fearful thing to love, hope, dream: to be— to be, And oh! to lose. A thing for fools, this, and a holy thing, a holy thing to love.