Sometimes I wish we could rub out all of our mistakes and start fresh, from the beginning,' I said. 'And sometimes I think there isn't anything to us but our mistakes.

And that's when he finally tells me his name is Ernest. I'm thinking of giving it away, though. Ernest is so dull, and Hemingway? Who wants a Hemingway?

But in the end, fighting for a love that was already gone felt like trying to live in the ruins of a lost city.

Don't tell readers what to think. Let the action speak for itself.

I also liked to look around at the houses surrounding the park and wonder about the people who filled them, what kinds of marriages they had and how they loved or hurt each other on any given day, and if they were happy, and whether they thought happiness was a sustainable thing.

People belong to each other only as long as they both believe. He stopped believing.

Not everyone out in a storm wants to be saved