I know about forgiving people and loving them anyway, even after they hurt you.

It occurred to her suddenly, sharply, that she wanted to be in love... She wanted not to feel so damned alone in the world.

Some stories don't have happy endings. Even love stories. Maybe especially love stories.

To those who are here, those who are gone, and those who are lost.

Memories are who we are. In the end, that's all the luggage you take with you. Love and Memories are what last.

It was the Magic Hour, the moment in time when every leaf and blade of grass seemed to separate, when sunlight, burnished by the rain and softened by the coming night, gave the world an impossibly beautiful glow.

If I have learned anything in this long life of mine, it is this: in love we find out who we want to be; in war we find out who we are.