I realize now that dying is easy. Living is hard.

For the hundredth time tonight, I’m back with Lulu, on Jacques’s barge, the improbably named Viola. She’d just toldme the story of double happiness and we were arguing over the meaning. She’d thought it meant the luck of the boy getting the job and the girl. But I’d disagreed. It was the couplet fitting together, the two halves finding each other. It was love. But maybe we were both wrong, and both right. It’s not either or, not luck or love. Not fate or will. Maybe for double happiness, you need both.

Because I understand all the ways of trying to escape, how sometimes you escape one prison only to find you've built yourself a different one.

I have a feeling that once you live through something like this, you become a little bit invincible.

I don't hate you. I don't think I ever really did. It was just anger. And once I faced it head-on, once understood it, it dissipated. -Mia

If these walls could talk, I wonder what secrets they'd tell.

I've become to realize there's a world of difference between knowing something happened, even knowing why it happened, and believing it.