There was only today to throw yourself into without thinking about tomorrow, let alone forever. To keep you from thinking, there was liquor, an ocean's worth at least, all the usual vices and plenty of rope to hang yourself with. Love is a beautiful liar.

All that was left for me was a terrible kind of paralysis, this waiting game, this heartbreak game.

Books could be an incredible adventure. I stayed under my blanket and barely moved, and no one would have guessed how my mind raced and my heart soared with stories.

On December 8, 1921, when the Leopoldina set sail for Europe, we were on board. Our life together had finally begun. We held on to each other and looked out at the sea. It was impossibly large and full of beauty and danger in equal parts-and we wanted it all.

I'd never met anyone so vibrant or alive. He moved like light.

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

And sometimes I think there isn’t anything to us but our mistakes.