That is what I want to tell you about: the girls with their short skirts and bright eyes and big-city dreams. The girls of 1929.

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

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

Already she could feel the stunning weight of a lifetime of regret for letting him go, and she knew that it was enought to bury her alive.

Her life, she realized, had all the charm of a steel trap.

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.