I review what I know once again, confronting the monolith now alien and almost unconnected to me: my marriage.

When a dreamer loses his lover, his dream profits. (Unless, of course, the lover was the dreamer's dream.)

Even the jerks earn some of our affection. We can be glad they're gone and yet still mourn the good parts.

I didn’t want to get burned. I didn't want to be the other woman, but I wanted him with all my might.

Never develop any mysticism, about love; for love itself is a mystic thing that puts you in a mystic situation.

I want to own this transition, not to simply swallow the shame of it entire. I will push for every little irony.

In the property division splitting couples go through, the allocation of friends must surely be the most painful.

I’m creative, I make up almost everything. But with all my creativity, I couldn’t make up with my wife.

Your heart doesn't think. Your heart is stupid. It doesn't consider the relativity of tragedy when it breaks.

The real genesis is forbidden to me, vis-à-vis N´s inability to confess even the mildest transgressions.

Compromise, communicate, and never go to bed angry - the three pieces of advice gifted and regifted to all newlyweds.

But there's no emergency kit for marriage. No neat plan you can turn to when the ground shifts beneath your feet.

My bed feels empty without my ex wife in it. Also, I’m not in it, so that’s probably why it feels so empty.

She dated me for 3/4 yrs and liked me so much that she married me and disliked me so much that she divorced me after 4 yrs.

You will never accept gratitude as a solution to your problems, until you have reached the last stage of grief--acceptance.