I would figure out, later, how to explain to my boss that, for me, Delia will never be a story, but a happy ending.

I don't understand why it's a sin if you love something and want to keep it from having to suffer.

Life was what happened when all the what-ifs didn't.

The only difference between a wish and a prayer is that you're at the mercy of the universe for the first, and you've got some help with the second.

Sometimes you can see things happen right in front of your eyes and still jump to the wrong conclusions.

Ross held her face between his hands and kissed her. He tasted doubt on her tongue and pain on the roof of her mouth. He swallowed these, and drank again. Consumed, she had no choice but to see how empty he was inside, and how, sip by sip, she filled him.

When you have been with your partner for so many years, they become the glove compartment map that you've worn dog-eared and white-creased, the trail you recogonize so well you could draw it by heart and for this very reason keep it with you on journeys at all times. And yet, when you least expect it, one day you open your eyes and there is an unfamiliar turnoff, a vantage point taht wasn't there before, and you have to stop and wonder if maybe this landmark isn't new at all, but rather something you have missed all along.