There was one thing Bridget like about guys. They took insults well.

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.

One must have a good memory to keep the promises one has made.

She got tired of herself. She got tired of not being able to say what she wanted or do what she wanted or even want what she wanted.

Love is like war; easy to begin, hard to end.

It was funny to hear her voice aloud. Her thoughts and perceptions usually existed so deep inside her, they rarely made it to the surface without a deliberate effort.

When your about to criticize someone walk a mile in thier shoes, that way when you criticize them you're a mile away from them and you have their shoes