“And the only thing I knew how to do was to hold on as tightly as possible and count every single second until I reached the last one. The one I dreaded most.Sudden, violent, final.The end.”

“I love you too, but my time with you has passed.”

“Since when,” he asked,”Are the first line and last line of any poemWhere the poem begins and ends?”

“I think here I will leave you. It has come to seemthere is no perfect ending.Indeed, there are infinite endings.Or perhaps, once one begins,there are only endings.”

“If this turns to friendship, it only meansThat one of us will suffer.That when we meet after the worst of endings,There will only be this skein of words between us—Most of them for boredom, fewer for loneliness—Rising out of our mutual space of breath, leavingBehind a bluer sky each moment of departure.And one of us will cling on to its blue,Hung on partings like a muted cloud, whileThe other rides on a wing of word away from here.”

“Please write an ending where the Martians are defeated. Don’t take away your readers’ hope.”

“Life is so utterly enraptured with beginnings that it can do little else than perpetually create space for them. And those spaces are what we call endings.”

“If I’m only looking at an ending, I’ll assume that an ending is all that there is. And without a doubt, that kind of assumption is the beginning of the end.”

“When a country is defeated, there remain only mountains and rivers, and on a ruined castle in spring only grasses thrive. I sat down on my hat and wept bitterly till I almost forgot time.A thicket of summer grassIs all that remainsOf the dreams and ambitionsOf ancient warriors.”

“Do not wait until the near end of your life to realize that you have not fully lived to love.”

“In the planning stage of a book, don’t plan the ending. It has to be earned by all that will go before it.”

“There’s nothing on Earth like really nailing the last line of a big book. You have 200 pages to tickle their fancy, and seven words to break their heart.”

“Death is only the end if you assume the story is about you.”

“Have you thought of an ending?””Yes, several, and all are dark and unpleasant.””Oh, that won’t do! Books ought to have good endings. How would this do: and they all settled down and lived together happily ever after?””It will do well, if it ever came to that.””Ah! And where will they live? That’s what I often wonder.”

“There is no real ending. It’s just the place where you stop the story.”