divorce

She didn't know how to hate her mother yet, but every time she left her father crying in the airport she came that much closer to figuring it out.

I wanted two girls," she said. "You and your sister. I wanted exactly what I had. Other people's children are too hard

Delusion detests focus and romance provides the veil.

Some people walk into our lives and leave footprints on our hearts. Others walk into our lives and we want to leave footprints on their face!

We ruined each other by being together. We destroyed each other__ dreams.

We live in a time when we have a communal duty to receive and broadcast love. We must set aside our repeating arguments and get a handle on our destructive depressions.pg vi

A friend is like a rope, you trust it until it snaps.

There was a time when I thought I loved my first wife more than life itself. But now I hate her guts. I do. How do you explain that? What happened to that love? What happened to it, is what I'd like to know. I wish someone could tell me.

If two people truly have feelings for one another then they don__ have an affair. They get a divorce and they sort out their feelings. You are accountable for the people you hold hostage in a marriage when your mind and heart refuse to fully commit to them.

...my father, [was] a mid-level phonecompany manager who treated my mother at best like an incompetent employee. At worst? He never beat her, but his pure, inarticulate fury would fill the house for days, weeks, at a time, making the air humid, hard to breathe, my father stalking around with his lower jaw jutting out, giving him the look of a wounded, vengeful boxer, grinding his teeth so loud you could hear it across the room ... I'm sure he told himself: 'I never hit her'. I'm sure because of this technicality he never saw himself as an abuser. But he turned our family life into an endless road trip with bad directions and a rage-clenched driver, a vacation that never got a chance to be fun.

Deep down a broken heart, all the sadness one can bear is misery.

What came next wasn't exactly silence, because although it was quiet, a thousand things were being said. I hated that part about an unhappy household--that feeling of being perched and listening, the way an animal must feel at night in the dark, assessing danger.

He's an artist in London. We don't see him much."Tom gave him one of his quick, considering glances and asked, "Doesn't he live with you?""No," said Indigo, finally saying out loud what he had known now for a long, long time. "Not really. Not anymore.