Be bold, but not too bold. Have courage, but not too much.

Hillary lies sleepless in her bed. It's spooky in here, she thinks, and she turns on the ceiling light to supplement the night light. Jonathon whickers in his sleep, and reminds her of his guinea pig.

Jamie is fifty and feels thirty: Judy is thirty and feels twenty. That's only ten years difference.

One friend dies and we remain indifferent; another dies, perhaps less intimate, and we see ourselves as dead, and weep, mourn, tear our hair or find ourselves caught up in the madness of the wake, competing with others as to who was closest, now suffers most.