Even when we're most sure the love can't conquer all, it seems to anyway. It goes down into the rat hole with us, in the guise of our friends, and there it swells and comforts. It gives us second winds, third winds, hundredth winds. It struck me that I have spent so much time trying to pump my way into feeling the solace I used to feel in my parents' arms. But pumping always fails you in the end. The truth is that your spirits don't rise until you get way down. Maybe it's because this — the mud, the bottom — is where it all rises from.

Anne Lamott, Traveling Mercies