He was just like summer, and she loved summer. If she had any wish, it would be to live a lifetime of summers.

So this was betrayal. It was like being left alone in the desert at dusk without water or warmth. It left your mouth dry and will broken. It sapped your tears and made you hollow.

That was how the heroine of a book would play it and Diana was still writing her own story the best heroines she'd always believed took their fate into their own hands.

In New York there is always something to look at, but it is all infinitely more interesting through a window in the backseat of a limousine.

She felt so much aware of her own beauty it seemed inconceivable that everybody else wouldn't notice the difference too.

Henry was thinking of the younger Holland sister of the way she could go from being an impetuous girl to a knowing woman in a few seconds and never lose the stars in her eyes.

All really interesting girls invent themselves.