Love and marriage are wonderful arenas in which to place a character. We are most likely to risk our morals and beliefs while in love. Betrayal gives tremendous insights into a character as well.

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

If you're skating on thin ice, you might as well dance.

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.

Among other things, Kathryn knew, grief was physically exhausting.

I think about the hurt that stories cannot ease, not with a thousand tellings.

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