I hate this bizarre policy of protective exclusion, because it effectively writes me off the page.

After sixty-one years together, she simply clutched my hand and exhaled.

... a gaggle of old ladies is glued to the window at the end of the hall like children or jailbirds. They're spidery and frail, their hair as fine as mist. Most of them are a good decade younger than me, and this astounds me. Even as your body betrays you, your mind denies it.--There are five of them now, white headed old things huddled together and pointing crooked fingers at the glass.

I strain to hear, but my old ears, for all their obscene hugeness, pick up nothing but snippets.

I want her to melt into me, like butter on toast. I want to absorb her and walk around for the rest of my days with her encased in my skin. I want.

I just think I'm better equipped to make a study of human personality than trying to get into the mind of animals.

Juliet is one of those rare novels that has it all: lush prose, tightly intertwined parallel narratives, intrigue, and historical detail all set against a backdrop of looming danger. Anne Fortier casts a new light on one of history's greatest stories of passion. I was swept away.