They were all dressed in their finest as though life really were some magical stage play in which every moment ought to be illuminated with its own bright spotlight.

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

Heart-stopping envy is the sincerest form of flattery.

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.

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.

Though her emotions had not deviated from a jittery frailty she knew that in her own room she could at least attempt sleep and that if she dreamed she might then finally be with Henry.

She was full of some strange energy that morning. Her every movement had purpose and life and she seemed to find satisfaction in every little thing.