Was memory always as much of a burden as it could sometimes be a blessing.

There had to be a reason why they were not going to marry. They had both been so adamant about it. What the devil was the reason?

Did everyone make the most ghastly blunders at regularly intervals through their life and live to regret them ever afterward? Was everyone's life filled with confusing and contradictory mix of guilt and innocence, hatred and love, concern and unconcern, and any number of other pairings of polar opposites? Or were most people one thing or the other - good or bad, cheerful or crotchety, generous or miserly, and so on.

If you have always suspected your sister of an inclination to madness, it will be my pleasure to confirm your worst fears.

Suddenly, and for the first time, he was at the center of his own life, living it and loving it.

Everyone was a rose but even more complex than a mere flower. Everyone was made up of infinitely layered petals. And everyone had something indescribably precious at the heart of their being. No one was shallow. Not really.

I do believe in fate, Anne-not the blind fate that gives one no freedom of choice, but a fate that sets down a pattern for each of our lives and gives us choices, numerous choices, by which to find that pattern and be happy.