It was a nice day, and I don't mean that it was sunny either. It was humid and not too cool, like winter was getting annoyed with itself and wanted it to be spring just as much as everyone else.

But in my defense, I knew enough about her to know I wanted to know everything else; I knew as much about her as she wanted me to know; I knew as much about her as anyone ever knows about anyone. And isn't love just curiosity at the beginning anyway?

The things we respond to at twenty are not necessarily the same things we will respond to at forty and vice versa. This is true in books and also in life

In the end, the end of a life only matters to friends, family, and other folks you used to know. For everyone else, it's just another end.

The scent is sweet and meloncholy. A bit like dying, a bit like falling in love.

The casualities seemed to go on and on. Just when I thought I was done losing her, I would find yet another way to love her all over again.

They should tell you when you’re born: have a suitcase heart, be ready to travel.