Love is seldom—almost never—an even proposition. Someone always loves more.

He threw in the towel before we were tested. Maybe because he didn't want to be tested. Maybe because he assumed we would fail. Maybe because, at the time, he just didn't love me enough.

It was about grace, she decides, something that has been missing from her own life. ... She wants to be the kind of person who can bestow unearned kindness on another, replace bitterness with empathy, forgive only for the sake of forgiving.

It's the worst thing to fall in love with someone who will never stop disappointing you.

The world is not that black and white, Rachel. There are no moral absolutes. It is complex.

I've always been intrigued by the power of secrets. When is it justifiable to keep them from the ones we love? And does keeping them irrevocably change who we are?

And like a favorite old movie, sometimes the sameness in a friend is what you like the most about her.