The first stab of love is like a sunset, a blaze of color - oranges, pearly pinks, vibrant purples.

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.

I can't imagine what my life was before. I can't imagine ever being without you for very long again.

Henry shook his head, 'I was drunk,' he said, trying to sound both ashamed and firm in this belief. He remembered the rosebush incident very clearly, of course, but he knew that sneaking into the bedroom window of his fiancee's little sister wasn't something he wanted to explain to his father. Sometimes, Henry reflected, being taken for a perpetual drunk was sort of convenient.

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

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

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.