I am writing of love not as a matter of grand passions, or as high-falutin’ idealism, or as religion. I am writing about love as the stuff that makes the processes of human life happen: the love that moves the sun and other stars, which is also the love that makes the toast and other snacks. Love is the most humdrum thing in life, the only thing that matters, the thing that is forever beyond the reach of human imagination.
At the hospital, when they discovered on the scan that Down’s syndrome was a possibility, they very kindly offered to kill him for us.
- I'm not a saint, just a parent [via Pickled Hedgehog]