There are so many things that demand to be said. Where did you go? Do you ever think about me? You've ruined me. Are you okay? But of course, I can't say any of that.

The truth and its opposite are flip sides of the same coin.

Even if you find him. Even if he didn't leave you on purpose, he can't possibly live up to the person you've built him into." It's not like the thought hasn't occurred to me. I get that the chances of finding him are small, but the chances of finding him as I remember him are even smaller. But I just keep going back to what my dad always says, about how when you lose something, you have to visualize the last place you had it. And I found―and then lost―so many things in Paris.

I don't know who I am. Or maybe I do know who I am and I just don't want to be her anymore.

Doubt is part of searching. Same as faith.

Obey the muse, Liz said. She's a fickle mistress.

Whoever said that the past isn't dead had it backward. It's the future that's already dead, already played out.