She hadn't chosen the brave life. She'd chosen the small, fearful one.

It’s natural to overlook and even sacrifice the things that belong to us most easily most gracefully. So here’s me asking you to please not make that mistake.

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.

I dont really write with the idea of trying to teach any lessons. I want to tell a story as truthfully and engagingly as I can, and then let the chips fall where they may.

Sometimes he felt sure that the key to happiness was a poor memory.

Developing characters is a strange thing. In the beginning they are abstract and I wonder how to move on from there.

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