Bridget cried for the leavers and the left. For the people, like herself, grimly forsaking what precious gifts they would ever get.

There are going to be moments of deep, deep doubts, and you have to have faith that your initial idea was good and just muddle through.

If you ever meet a guy and you fall in love with him, but because of some weird genetic mutation he doesn't seem to return the feeling?... Wear that dress.

She wasn’t sure if he wanted more from her or if he wanted less. Maybe it was both. Maybe it was always both.

There was nothing new in sitting on this dock, on this or that wooden bench, watching for his boat to come. In some ways, she was always waiting for him.

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

Those were the people who made her something, and without them she was different. She'd held on to them and to that old self tenaciously, though. She clung to it, celebrated it, worshipped it even, instead of constructing a new grown-up life for herself. For years she'd been eating the cold crumbs left over from a great feast, living on them as though they could last her forever.