I feel like humor is a part of life. I don't think it comes through as much in the novels as it does in my head.

Without the existence of the opposite, the concept has no meaning.

The way you move — you orient yourself around him without even thinking about it. When he moves, even a little bit, you adjust your position at the same time. Like magnets… or gravity. You’re like a… satellite, or something.

Some of the memories were not clear - -dim human memories, seen through weak eyes and heard through weak ears: the first time I'd seen his face... the way it felt when he'd held me in the meadow... the sound of his voice through the darkness of my faltering consciousness when he'd save me from James... his face as he waited under a canopy of flowers to marry me... every precious moment on the island... his cold hands touching our baby through my skin.

Because when I thought of him, of his voice, his hypnotic eyes, the magnetic force of his personality, I wanted nothing more than to be with him right now.

Do you think I’ll ever get better at this? That my heart might someday stop trying to jump out of my chest whenever you touch me?

Happiness expanded like an explosion inside me – so extreme, so violent that I wasn’t sure I’d survive it.