As a writer, you live in such isolation. It's hard to imagine your book has a life beyond you.

When you feel someone else's pain and joy as powerfully as if it were your own, then you know you really loved them.

He'd pushed her. He'd scared her. He'd besieged her. He'd vowed he wouldn't, and he did.

Her vision of the world under the water represented a beautiful stillness, a version of heaven. It was the lost city of Lena, her alternate universe, the life she yearned for but didn't get to have.

They needed to grieve alone was what Tibby's dad said. Lena wondered if really there was any choice in that. Everyone grieved alone.

Your problem isn't the problem, it's your attitude about the problem.

She felt like parts of her soul were missing, had left her body long ago. It had happened not in Greece three months ago, but long before that. It was in Greece that she'd realized those parts had left her and were not coming back.