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

It was their mothers, long ago. Tibby noted with joy that all four of them were wearing jeans.

She liked the life she had. She loved habits. She craved a day with nothing in it, a long, quiet stretch of hours in the studio.

The happiness at getting what you want is not usually commensurate with the worry leading up to it.

Maybe there is more truth in how you feel than in what actually happens.

She thought she was independent and strong, but she got one small taste of love and she was hungrier than anyone. She was ravenous.

I mean putting yourself out there in the way of overwhelming happiness and knowing you're also putting yourself in the way of terrible harm. I'm scared to be this happy. I'm scared to be this extreme.