We’re all just ingredients. What matters is the grace with which you cook the meal.
I’ve been wondering,” Isabelle commented reflectively over dessert, “if it is foolish to make new memories when you know you are going to lose them.
She felt about her zester the way some women do about a pair of spiky red shoes – a frivolous splurge, good only for parties, but oh so lovely.
When she realized that there are many kinds of love and not all of them are obvious. That some wait like presents in the back of the closet until you are able to open them.
There were moments in life, Marion thought, when you reached back, baton in hand, feeling the runner behind you. Felt the clasp of their fingers resonating through the wood, the release of your hand, which then flew forward, empty, into the space ahead of you.
Adults need to have fun so children will want to grow up.
The women ranged in age, but they were all old enough to know that in the currency of friendship, empathy is more valuable than accuracy.
Each person’s heart breaks in it’s own way. Every cure will be different, but there are some things we all need. Before anything else, we need to feel safe.
You’re not traveling if you already know everything.
A risk is a risk because it’s avoidable.
You could never be certain what you would find in a book that had spent time with someone else.
If you live in your senses, slowly, with attention, if you use your eyes and your fingertips and your taste buds, then romance is something you’ll never need a greeting card to make you remember.
I am starting to think that maybe memories are like this dessert. I eat it, and it becomes a part of me, whether I remember it later or not.
Life is beautiful. Some people just remind you of that more than others.
She said, ‘You can be broken, or broken open. That choice is yours.’
Marriage is a leap of faith. You are each other’s safety net.