I love you, you know that? You're so selfless.
Don't paint me a saint, Gracie. I have alot of making up to do for the shit I've caused but I'm trying.

That's what it's all about–knowing what you have to lose, but risking the loss anyway.

Bless you, daugher of man," Carter said, his eyes luminous and almost silver now. He leaned down and kissed my forehead. I closed my eyes and caught my breath. His lips were both burning hot and icy cold.

Dixie Carter was a goddess. The kind of wife and mother that every mother hopes their daughter will become and the kind of friend that is absolutely irreplaceable. She loved fiercely and was adored in return.

We're fascinated by things we can't figure out, by the things that don't have a right or wrong answer. Even when we can't explain them, we need to make some sort of sense out of them - create lists, find connections, map it out. Maybe that's why, when we can't seem to figure out all sorts of other more commonplace mysteries (like why we all keep looking at the sky as if it might talk to us), we still need to try.
We think maybe it's a lot like love, that need to make sense of the sky. We don't know why we need it, we can't explain it when it happens or when it doesn't, but we need it like we need air or food.
So we keep looking for it.

Because pieces of your heart clearly weigh more when they're sitting shattered at the bottom of your stomach.