Christina Baker Kline

Know what a symbol is?...Shit that stands for shit.

I think about all the ways I__e been perceived by others over the years: as a burden, a dutiful daughter, a girlfriend, a spiteful wretch, an inva

So is it just human nature to believe that things happen for a reason _ to find some shred of meaning even in the worst experiences?" Molly asks when Vivian reads some of these stories aloud."It certainly helps," Vivian says.

The older I get, the more I believe that the greatest kindness is acceptance.

The smallest things get to her. It's as if she assumes everything will go right, and when it doesn't -- which, of course, is pretty often -- she is surprised and affronted.

I ... am left with the lingering feeling that the places we go in our minds to find comfort have little to do with where our bodies go.

I learned long ago that loss is not only probable but inevitable. I know what it means to lose everything, to let go of one life and find another. And now I feel, with a strange, deep certainty, that it must be my lot in life to be taught that lesson over and over again.

I couldn't have imagined how much more there was to lose.

If you want trouble, find yourself a redhead.

I remember her words to me when I left school: Your mind will be your comfort. It is, sometimes. And sometimes it isn't.

My heart is shattered, an all that's left are jagged shards.

It's painful to hold out hope for the things that once brought you joy. You have to find ways to make yourself forget.

Something inexorable seeds itself in the place of your origin. You can never escape the bonds of family history, no matter how far you travel.

Before we leave the gravesite, Mary sings Mother's favorite gospel hymn ...Mary's lovely voice rises and lingers in the air, and by the end of the song most of us are crying. I am too, though I still don't know what those stars are meant to represent. My mistake, I suppose, is in thinking they should mean something.

Most people are remarkably resilient. Even those who have been through war or great loss often find reservoirs of strength. But the legacy of trauma is a heavy burden to bear.

It's hard to say what's in my head. It's been a long time since anyone cared to ask.

That man would have chipped away at your heart bit by bit until there was nothing left. It may have been bruised, but at least it's whole.

I am acutely aware that like a slip of paper in the wind, something in his nature eludes my grasp.