In the ladies' room, Alice studied her image in the mirror. The reflected older woman's face didn't quite match the picture that she had of herself in her mind's eye. p 35

You're so beautiful, said Alice. I'm afraid of looking at you and not knowing who you are. I think that even if you don't know who I am someday, you'll still know that I love you. What if I see you, and I don't know that you're my daughter, and I don't know that you love me? Then, I'll tell you that I do, and you'll believe me.

And you, Mom. I loved you. You've asked if i felt and understood that you loved me. of course I did. And you know this. I loved your love because it kept me safe and happy and wanted, and it existed beyond words and hugs and eyes.

At some point, there would simply be no point.

I smile, loving him for changing with me, for going where my Neglect has taken us, for getting the new me.

... just because [butterflies'] lives were short didn't mean they were tragic... See, they have a beautiful life.

Alice: I miss myself. John: I miss you too, Ali, so much.

Time's a funny thing, bending, warping, stretching, and compressing, all depending on perspective.

Take what you've learned and love someone again. Find someone to love and love without condition. This is why we're all here.

But I am not what I say or what I do or what I remember. I am fundamentally more than that.

Don't aim for perfect. Aim for complete. Perfection is an unattainable illusion.

Everything she did and love, everything she was, required language.