I hate it when people tell me the end of the story because my mother always read the last page of a novel first to see whether she wanted to read it. It was a strange reading habit.

That's the way love sounds, my mother told me. You think it should feel like honey, but instead it cuts like a knife.

When I looked at her, she appeared to be a different person from the one I'd known... She had rewritten everything, our history together, our friendship. Now I was the girl who'd stolen Andres; the girl who'd lied to her about who I was. Therefore, she owned me nothing.

Being an outsider is the one thing we all have in common.

That's why there are ten gates to pass through before you reach the garden. If life were easy there would be one gate. There would be no gates at all.

He has the ability to catch someone by the way that he looks at her, and make her wish he would go on looking.

Outside, the September air was enticingly fragrant, yellow with pollen and rich, lemony sunlight.