Odd how intensely you knew a person, or thought you did, when you were in love-soaked, drenched in love-only to discover later that perhaps you didn't know that person quite as well as you had imagined.

To ward off a feeling of failure, she joked that she could wallpaper her bathroom with rejection slips, which she chose not to see as messages to stop, but rather as tickets to the game.

I loved him," Muire said. "We were in love." As if that were enough.

That I have no right to be jealous is irrelevant. It is a human passion: the sick, white underbelly of love.

Children don't heal as well.. they change.. they mutate with disaster and make accomodations.

love is ... something extraordinary that happens to ordinary people.

But how do you ever know that you know a person?