Quotes from Lisa Gardner

Do you really think it's all gone away? Mental illness has just moved underground, into the homeless shelters and the city parks. Out of sight, out of mind for the taxpayers. It's a crying shame.

Being at the easternmost edge of the time zone, Massachusetts has one of the first sunrises in the country.

We all wear masks. And the more we have to hide, the more accomplished the veneer.

if I could just have twenty seconds alone with younger, stupider me . . . But there are some mistakes you never get to take back. And there are some experiences there is no returning from.

turned out, a giant well of emptiness had always existed inside me. A void so deep and black and ugly, I wasn't just empty, I was hollowed out by the losses in my life. Until there were days I didn't dare go outside because I worried the wind would blow me away. The pills became my

Feel your feels, as the saying goes. Except so many feelings are hard to take.

at the end of the day, the people left behind matter as much as the ones who are missing. We mourn the ones we've lost, but we agonize over the pieces of ourselves they took with them. The identities we'll never have again. The emotions we're certain we'll never feel again. The sense of our own selves, becoming undone and disappearing just as completely and suddenly as those who vanished.

So many think we must share the same beliefs to get along. In my experience, sharing the same fear is a far more effective strategy.

And I take all that sadness back inside me, cleaning the floor, sweeping up the shredded bits of wax, because I don't want

Sometimes fear is like that: It leaves you with nothing but the desire for it to be done.

And I take all that sadness back inside me, cleaning the floor, sweeping up the shredded bits of wax, because I don't want to leave any trace of my pain behind.

Devouring lives by the dozen, from the innocent to the not-so-innocent. It hardly mattered to him. He took, because destroying others was the only time he wasn't afraid.

father might have been my favorite playmate, but she was my hero

My family's loud. Not big, but definitely demonstrative. My father still grabs my mother around the waist and tries to lure her into dark corners. As an adult, I appreciate their relationship. As a kid...Hell, we were scared to death not to announce ourselves before walking down a darkened hall.

if I could love him less, then maybe I could forgive him more.

can't do this. I suck at this. Which is why they're making me go. Not to improve my swimming—who cares about that?—but to work on that whole playing-well-with-others thing. Another one of my broken bits. I don't want to socialize with other kids. I don't trust 'em, I don't like 'em, and best I can tell, the feeling's mutual.

darkened. And, oh, the graceful curve of the lower landing, the hand-hewn craftsmanship of each individual spindle, the hours of meticulous, painstaking labor. Except, then he turned away from the staircase toward the front sitting room to discover built-in shelves, a gorgeously restored fireplace mantel, the original crown dentil molding . . . He gave up. He stood in the middle of

And if I'd once fallen hard for my husband, I fell even harder for my child. It was as if my entire life had been building to this one moment, my finest work, my greatest accomplishment, this tiny bundle of precious life.

Families aren't built in a day. But they can be destroyed in an instant.

The truth is, genius and depression have always gone hand in hand. Which was why I spent so many afternoons, sitting at the piano, playing and playing, because my father said my music soothed his spirit and allowed him to rest in a way a truly great mind could never completely be at ease.

When it comes to basic survival, you want to remember the rule of threes: You can go three minutes without air, three hours without shelter, three days without water, and three weeks without food. Prioritize accordingly.

asked Thomas; it's just him and me and has been for a very long time. We tell each other we are

Where are these perfect families? Is it yours? Your friend's, your neighbor's? I don't think you can just point one out. The ones we're most likely to admire are simply the ones with the best-kept secrets. No, the real perfect families, they have warts and bruises and scars. They had to screw up and admit their mistakes. They had to do everything wrong so they could learn how to do a few things right. They had to hate so they could know what to love.

So let's catch this son of a bitch, so I can return to my classes, and finish up my degree. Then I'll join law enforcement, neglect my own family, and the cycle will be complete.