
A conversation on love with Cheryl Strayed (part one)

But love wasn’t measured by its ending. It was every cup of coffee, broken boiler, empty crisp packet, and train ride. It was every hangover, stubbed toe, high temperature, nasty splinter, and burned tongue. Every eye roll, private joke, and piece of burned toast. Every morning cuddle and blunt pencil. Every kiss good night, every lost key, sore
Loretta Rothschild • Finding Grace: A Novel

