The living are made of nothing but flaws. The dead, with each passing day in the afterlife, become more and more impeccable to those who remain earthbound.

A young lady's most natural ally is her sister although sometimes our own relatives are as inscrutable to us as an antipodean.

So this is how life was, she thought with a faint smile: It wore you down until you emerged at its wildest, most unexpected ends.

Life was a short window and there was no sense in doing the wrong thing over and over even if it was so difficult to stop.

It had been an awful thing to lose Henry the first time, to matrimony, but to discover what a false front he was capable of was another kind of blow, and it had left her almost speechless. Then there was the fury with herself—for she had known what Henry’s love was, and still she had gone back to suffer a little more at his hands.

The headiest loves were the loves that couldn't be.

Love is all right, as things go, but lovers can be a terrible waste of a girl's time.