Caleb had been my imperfection, with his slightly Americanized British accent, and the way he could play any sport and quote any philosopher. He was such a mix of class and jock, romance and jerk, it made me crazy.
The kiss. The kiss. The kiss. It was chocolate cake and fizzy passion and goose bumps. No one had ever kissed me like that.
Olivia, I once told you that I would love again, and that you would hurt forever. Do you remember? It was a lie. I knew it was a lie, even as I said it. I’ve never loved anyone after you. I never will.
I was sitting in a white room hating myself, until you breathed life back into me. You loved me so much that I started to love myself.
Your marriage won’t last. Tell Noah the truth; be fair. When you do, come find me, and I’ll give you that baby.
Olivia is a piece of art. You have to know how to interpret her, how to see the beauty under the harsh lines of her personality.
You belong with me. Do you believe me?
Now that I’ve been thoroughly mind f – ked, I need a cigarette...
Redhead marrying, amnesia getting, bastard!
She’s not the enemy. She’s just a dirty fighter.
I know, I know, I know that I am the match and she is the gasoline and without each other we are just two objects void of reaction.
Love is a Godgiven tool, she tells me. It screws things back in place that were loose, and it cleans out all the broken pieces that you don’t need anymore.
I want your babies, and your anger, and your cold blue eyes.
It’s like he’s seeing the only thing that matters. I am sickly familiar with the way he looks at Olivia, because it is the way I look at him.
What you’re doing – it’s the right thing. Going after what you love despite everything you’ve done, and I won’t sugarcoat it, you’ve done some pretty lousy things, but you did it all because you love this single human being so much you couldn’t help yourself. There is an honesty to that.
Leah” Olivia says quietly, “if you point at me again I’m going to break that manicured finger right off your hand. Now turn around and smile, your daughter is waking up.
Love is a possession; it’s something that you own from the layers of people in your life. But if my life were a cake it would be un-layered, unbaked, missing ingredients. I isolated myself too soundly to own anyone’s love.
This is a fast love culture, where people fall in and out of something so sacred you wonder if it has the same meaning it did a hundred years ago.
When I was a child my mother would tell me that people lost soul in two ways: someone could take it from you, or you’d surrender it willingly.
Forgiveness is for Buddhists.