She found herself longing for home-not just for the hotel but for New York and all the real novels that she could lose herself in there.

She had had no idea what it would do to her seeing him in a suit.

She should have know that villains often come with pretty faces.

Henry closed his eyes and imagined the sweet petulant woundedness with which she had stared at him on the beach. He felt a little proud that she could love him.

She was like a heroine in a novel that she herself was writing the character kept protesting that she was too strong for love and yet the narrator went on describing her desire.

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

I've always believed in savoring the moments. In the end, they are the only things we'll have.