If we measured life in the things that almost happened, we wouldn't get anywhere.

When someone needs help, you help. Right?

There was an art to the male posterior. That's all there was to it.

People fall in love all the time. And it's not always with the right people. And it's not always reciprocated.

Superstitions are man's way of trying to control things he has no control over.

We're connected, as women. It's like a spiderweb. If one part of that web vibrates, if there's trouble, we all know it, but most of the time we're just too scared, or selfish, or insecure to help. But if we don't help each other, who will?

When Josey woke up and saw the feathery frost on her windowpane, she smiled. Finally, it was cold enough to wear long coats and tights. It was cold enough for scarves and shirts worn in layers, like camouflage. It was cold enough for her lucky red cardigan, which she swore had a power of its own. She loved this time of year. Summer was tedious with the light dresses she pretended to be comfortable in while secretly sure she looked like a loaf of white bread wearing a belt. The cold was such a relief.