The Night Is A Strawberry.

Things Are Strongest Where They're Broken.

The Women In The Room Chatted About Love, About Childhood, About Losing Parents, About Mr. Spock, About Good Books They'd Read. They Mothered Each Other.

I Went Through A Period In My Life When I Had No Friends, When The Phone Never Rang, When I Thought I Would Die From Loneliness. I Know That The Real Blessing Here Isn't That I Have A Book Published, But That I Have So Many People To Thank.

In Winter The Very Ground Seemed To Reach Up And Grab The Elderly, Yanking Them To Earth As Though Hungry For Them.

To Be Silent. In Hopes Of Not Offending, In Hopes Of Being Accepted. But What Happened To People Who Never Spoke, Never Raised Their Voices? Kept Everything Inside? Gamache Knew What Happened. Everything They Swallowed, Every Word, Thought, Feeling Rattled Around Inside, Hollowing The Person Out. And Into That Chasm They Stuffed Their Words, Their Rage.