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.

I would gladly have climbed out of my skin and into his that night, because I believed that was what love meant.

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

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

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

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

I'd had my share of rain. My mother's illness ... had weighed on me, but the years before had been heavy, too. I was only twenty eight.