Love made you admire funny things about a person, like how good she was at remembering to return her library books and at slicing cucumbers very thin. She was a veritable wonder at pulling a splinter out of her foot.

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.

Women always seemed to bring the size they wished they were to the fitting room, rather than the size that would actually fit.

I was supposed to write a romantic comedy, but my characters broke up.

He could lose himself in her forever, he thought.

A lot of friendship is about practice, that’s something I’ve learned as I’ve gotten older. It’s not simply some spiritual soul-bond of memories and longings, it’s really about having coffee every week, or talking on the phone every day or every other day - whatever suits you.

What if people knew they were recycled? Would that change anything?