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

She accepted it from then on. Books liked her. Books wanted to look after her.

Sometimes people who had been together for a long time got to imagining that things used to be better, even when they weren't.

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

Coffee, she'd discovered, was tied to all sorts of memories, different for each person. Sunday mornings, friendly get-togethers, a favorite grandfather long since gone, the AA meeting that saved their life. Coffee meant something to people. Most found their lives were miserable without it. Coffee was a lot like love that way. And because Rachel believed in love, she believed in coffee, too.

Like magic, she felt him getting nearer, felt it like a pull in the pit of her stomach. It felt like hunger but deeper, heavier. Like the best kind of expectation. Ice cream expectation. Chocolate expectation.

Life is about experience... You can't hold on to everything