You can feel that he wants to own you - not like an object but like a good dream he wants to keep having. He lets you know that you already own him.

Nice,' I say, realizing only afterward that I've mimicked her, a bad habit of mine; I'm like one of those animals that imitates its predators to survive.

It scares me. But then I get this big feeling, simple but exalted: He's like me, just with different details.

It scares me how fast I go from disliking to loving him, and I wonder if it’s this way for everyone.

He said, "People wait their whole lives for the kind of happiness we have.

She seems sort of lost.' I thought, Lost how? How am I lost? Suddenly I felt lost.

Olive Kitteridge' is a masterpiece: The writing is so perfect you don't even notice it; the story is so vivid it's less like reading a story than experiencing it firsthand.