But love is love. It makes you do terribly stupid things.

The very rich only admire themselves

My life was my life; I would have to stare it down, somehow, and make it work for me.

To marry was to say you believed in the future and in the past, too-that history and tradition and hope could stay knit together to hold you up.

Maybe happiness was an hourglass already running out, the grains tipping, sifting past each other. Maybe it was a state of mind.

Though I often looked for one, I finally had to admit that there could be no cure for Paris.

I hope we'll get lucky enough to grow old together.