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

Riley was quiet for a minute. She gathered her blanket all around her. "Paul always loved you, Alice. He knows I know that. I know he loves me, too. But it's different." Alice opened her mouth, but nothing came out at first. "He loved me once. But I think that part is over," she said slowly. "No, it's not. It hasn't even begun." Riley took Alice's bare foot in her hand and squeezed it. "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."

Grief was like a newborn, and the first three months were hard as hell, but by six months you'd recognized defeat, shifted your life around, and made room for it.

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

But certain souls cohere. It's rare but possible. But it takes two powerful wills to make it so.

It was probably good you couldn't flip the love switch because sometimes it was what you needed even if you didn't want it.

She went around with a broken heart, and she wasn't sure who'd broken it. She thought it was herself, mostly.