“He’s lived the life he’s lived. He’s loved the woman he’s loved. No one ever has or ever will travel quite the same path on this earth, and that’s all right by him.” — M.L. Stedman Copy Share Image
“He traced the constellations as they slid their way across the roof of the world from dusk till dawn. The precision of it, the… — M.L. Stedman Copy Share Image
“You only have to forgive once. To resent, you have to do it all day, every day. You have to keep remembering all the… — M.L. Stedman Copy Share Image
“Putting down the burden of the lie has meant giving up the freedom of the dream.” — M.L. Stedman Copy Share Image
“Tom thought back to the imposing, empty house: to the silence that deadened every room with a subtly different pitch; to the kitchen smelling… — M.L. Stedman Copy Share Image
“He must turn to something solid, because if he didn't, who knew where his mind or his soul could blow away to, like a… — M.L. Stedman Copy Share Image
“He struggles to make sense of it--all this love, so bent out of shape, refracted, like light through the lens.” — M.L. Stedman Copy Share Image
“Sometimes, you're the one who strikes it lucky. Sometimes, it's the other poor bastard who's left with the short straw, and you just have… — M.L. Stedman Copy Share Image
“The town draws a veil over certain events. This is a small community, where everyone knows that sometimes the contract to forget is as… — M.L. Stedman Copy Share Image
“Coming back last time to the house she grew up in, Isabel had been reminded of the darkness that had descended with her brothers'… — M.L. Stedman Copy Share Image
“Everything's ruined. Nothing can ever be put right." Tom rested a hand on hers. "We've put things right as well as we can. That's… — M.L. Stedman Copy Share Image
“Later still, the war memorials would sprout from the earth, dwelling not on the loss, but on what the loss had won, and what… — M.L. Stedman Copy Share Image
“I can forgive and forget... it is so much less exhausting. You only have to forgive once. To resent, you have to do it… — M.L. Stedman Copy Share Image
“It occurs to him that there are different versions of himself to farewell—the abandoned eight-year-old; the delusional soldier who hovered somewhere in hell; the… — M.L. Stedman Copy Share Image
