I told him, though, that he better be good to you. When you came along, I said I'd share you, but I told him to remember that you're my sister. I loved you first.

Marnie hated to see her spend so much of herself on someone who didn't care.

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

You carry your past with you even if you don't remember any of it.

Particularly beautiful people were like particularly funny-looking people, though. Once you know them you mostly forgot about it.

She knew whose love she doubted. It wasn't her parents' and it wasn't her friends: It was her own.

Maybe the truth is, there's a little bit of loser in all of us. Being happy isn't having everything in your life be perfect. Maybe it's about stringing together all the little things.