She raised her eyes to his. They had both come from misery, she thought, and survived it. They had been drawn together through violence and tragedy, and had overcome it. They walked different paths and had found a mutual route. Some things last, she thought. Some ordinary things. Like love.

I'd always loved to read - and come from a family of readers - but I never thought about writing as a career.

We're not blank slates. What we've done, what we've survived all go into us.

I hate patience. Slows everything down.

Once you considered failure you were one step farther away from success.

Laying a hand on his heart, she timed its beats to her own. And knew the truest magic was there.

It takes a lot of spine and stomach to make yourself into something when no one gives you a foundation.