I'll give you one day at a time, Claire. But remember, I'm thousands of days ahead already.

Right now everyone is drinking bad wine made of sour grapes and hysteria. Let them drink it, and let them regret it in the morning.

I just don't know where home is. There's this promise of happiness out there. I know it. I even feel it sometimes. But it's like chasing the moon - just when I think I have it, it disappears into the horizon. I grieve and try to move on, but then the damn thing comes back the next night, giving me hope of catching it all over again.

We have history, you and I. You just don’t know it yet.

Her grandmother used to tell her that a pink sky meant someone in the distance had just fallen in love . . . .

I should let people in. If they leave, they leave. If I break, I break. It happens to everyone. Right?

Whenever I would get too nosy as a child, my grandmother would say, "When you learn someone else's secret, your own secrets aren't safe. Dig up one, release them all.