In Rome, I really wanted an Audrey Hepburn Roman Holiday experience, but the Trevi Fountain was crowded, there was a McDonald's at the base of the Spanish Steps, and the ruins smelled like cat pee because of all the strays. The same thing happened in Prague, where I'd been yearning for some of the bohemianism of The Unbearable Lightness of Being. But no, there were no fabulous artists, no guys who looked remotely like a young Daniel Day-Lewis. I saw this one mysterious-looking guy reading Sartre in a cafe, but then his cell phone rang and he started talking in aloud Texan twang.

Her eyes flutter up to meet mine. “Are you hungry?”she asks. Am I ever.

It was selfish what I asked her to do, even if it wound up being the most unselfish thing I've ever done.

(P)eople’s good intentions can wind up putting us in boxes as confining as coffins.

The line between true self and feigned self is blurred on all sides. Which I think is a rather handy metaphor for falling in love.

Even going to jail would be easy compared to losing you.

We were both music-obsessed, each in our own way. If we didn't entirely understand the other person's obsession, it didn't matter, because we understood our own.