One of my favorites is "Time and Again" by Jack Finney. It takes place in Manhattan and goes back and forth between 1882 and the 1950s. It's really a cult book.

I read "The Group" by Mary McCarthy. It had tons of sex in it, or so I thought at the time.

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

Margaret thought of all she knew for certain, that day would always follow night that love was never wasted nor was it lost.

Just because something is unspoken doesn't mean that it disappears.

Fairytales were maps formed of blood and hair and bones; they were the knots of the sub-conscious unwound. Every word in every tale was real and as true as apples and stones. They all led to the story inside the story.

No one knows you like a person with whom you've shared a childhood. No one will ever understand you in quite the same way.