It wasn't a matter of courage or dreams, but something a whole lot simpler. A pilot would call it ground orientation. I'd spent a long time circling above the clouds, looking for life, while Hallie was living it.
Every betrayal contains a perfect moment, a coin stamped heads or tails with salvation on the other side.
It's surprising how much memory is built around things unnoticed at the time.
Pain reaches the heart with electrical speed, but truth moves to the heart as slowly as a glacier.
Memory is a complicated thing, a relative to truth, but not its twin.
The truth needs so little rehearsal.
It kills you to see them grow up. But I guess it would kill you quicker if they didn't.