The very rich only admire themselves

At twenty-eight I'd had a handful of beaux, but had only been in love once, and that had been awful enough to make me doubt men and myself for a good long while.

I knew that I could hate him all I wanted for the way he was hurting me, but I couldn’t ever stop loving him, absolutely, for what he was.

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

Happiness is so awfully complicated, but freedom isn't. You're either tied down or you're not.

Dogs are easy. If their tails are up and their eyes are soft, you're in.

It was our favorite part of the day, this in-between time, and it always seemed to last longer than it should--a magic and lavender space unpinned from the hours around it, between worlds.