It had been so long since she had felt anything.

Depression is the flaw in love. To be creatures who love, we must be creatures who can despair at what we lose, and depression is the mechanism of that despair.

There was this whole emotion of despair, this incapacity to understand that humanity could ever do something like this, but there was also this immense gratitude that we were able to help.

We knew with the quick turnaround and the emotion we spent and the letdown we received from Sunday's loss, we would need energy and consistent play from our nonstarters. They gave us a big lift.

People talk of sorrow as if it is soft, a thing of water and tears. But true sorrow is not soft. True sorrow is a thing of fire, and rock. It burns your heart, crushes your soul under the weight of mountains. It destroys, and even if you keep breathing, keep going, you die. The person you were moments ago dies... Gone. Everything solid, everything real, is gone. It doesn't come back. The world is forever fractured, so that you walk on the crust of an earth where you can always feel the heat under you, the press of lava, that is so hot it can burn flesh, melt bone, and the very air is poisonous. To survive, you swallow the heat. To keep from falling through and dying for real, you swallow all that hate. You push it down inside you, into that fresh grave that is all that is left of what you thought the world would be.

My life is a perfect graveyard of buried hopes.