There were things I wanted to tell him. But I knew they would hurt him, so I buried them, and let them hurt… — Jonathan Safran Foer

It broke my heart into more pieces than my heart was made of, why can't people say what they mean at the time? (p. 279)

"Why do beautiful songs make you sad?" "Because they aren't true." "Never?" "Nothing is beautiful and true." (p. 43)

I spent my life learning to feel less.

Every day I felt less.

Is that growing old? Or is it something worse?

You can not protect yourself from sadness without protecting yourself from happiness.