“Our house was open to anyone who needed a little extra support or comfort or just a home-cooked meal.” — Nina Sankovitch Copy Share Image
“And in reading, I discovered that the burden of living is the uneven and unlimited allotment of pain. Tragedy is conferred randomly and unfairly.… — Nina Sankovitch Copy Share Image
“Life is hard, unfair, painful. But life is also guaranteed - one hundred percent, no doubt, no question - to offer unexpected and sudden… — Nina Sankovitch Copy Share Image
“My hiatus is over, my soul and body are healed, but I will never leave the purple chair for long. So many books waiting… — Nina Sankovitch Copy Share Image
“The truth of living is proved not by the inevitability of death but by the wonder that we lived at all. Remembering lives from… — Nina Sankovitch Copy Share Image
“Books. The more I thought about how to stop and get myself back together as one sane, whole person, the more I thought about… — Nina Sankovitch Copy Share Image
“Words create the stories that become history and become unforgettable.” — Nina Sankovitch Copy Share Image
“We are what we love to read, and when we admit to loving a book, we admit that the book represents some aspect of… — Nina Sankovitch Copy Share Image
“...but I know that I can survive the hard times, taking the worst of what happens to me as a burden but not as… — Nina Sankovitch Copy Share Image
“The value of experience, real or imagined, is that is shows us how to - or how NOT to - live. In reading about… — Nina Sankovitch Copy Share Image
“Desire for a person is not the same thing as having that unique appreciation and need for them, nor is affection. Desire waxes and… — Nina Sankovitch Copy Share Image
“Because to take someone for granted is a luxury; to have her and not think about losing her or never seeing her again, that… — Nina Sankovitch Copy Share Image
“Are you busy?" the caller would ask. "Yes I'm working." Sitting in my chair, cats nearby, I was reading a great book. That was… — Nina Sankovitch Copy Share Image
“Remembrance is acknowledging that a life was lived ... My father finally wrote out his memories for a reason. I took on a year… — Nina Sankovitch Copy Share Image
