It didn’t matter the quality of the writing— Callie’s fantasies about her fictional heroes were entirely democratic.

He raked his fingers through his hair. "She doesn't need me." Ralston smirked. "You are laboring under that mistaken impression that it is their job to need us. In my experience it is almost always the other way around.

I practice loving-kindness meditation, which cultivates compassion and equanimity.

It was a terrifying feeling. And if it was love, he wanted none of it.

But she had dreamed of being his for too long. He had quite ruined her for a marriage of convenience. She wanted everything from him: his mind, his body, his name and, most of all, his heart.

I had a perfect life in my reach once, and it was a crashing bore. Perfect is too clean, too easy. I don't want perfect any more than I want to be perfect. I want imperfect.

why couldn't someone , somewhere , want her for her ?