It may be possible to forget our past but our past is not going to forget us.

Inutile piangere sul latte versato. (No use crying over spilled milk.)

Suddenly it all seemed luminously clear. Love had very little to do with fear and emotional sabotage; love had to do with trust.

Telling the truth can be a dirty job.

I had fallen out of my secure world, precipitated beyond the territories I had only begun to control so skillfully. What a foolish step to take. What an insane move to make.

You know, when you’re unhappy you don’t have the strength left to take care of others. But it doesn’t mean you don’t love them.

These were the moments that would stick in her memory for years to come, those instants of perfect bliss that nothing else would ever match again.

I didn’t go there lightly. I knew even then that this was the beginning of something very hard to reverse. But I couldn’t do otherwise now: I was too possessed

A first kiss is the demarcation line: the same information that a moment ago felt private, all of a suddens seems unfair to withhold. And with that exchange came more.

Maybe that’s what happens with age, I thought. All your life you force yourself to forget people who have hurt you, but as you get older and weaker their memory surfaces again, like a bubble...

How can I explain this? Why is it you can never hope to describe the emotion Africa creates?You are lifted.Out of whatever pit, unbound from whatever tie, released from whatever fear. You are lifted and...

Passion – eventually it cools.

Perhaps she just needed to remind herself more often how that gold was still floating above her head, it’s minuscule particles visible only when pierced by a certain light.

You’ll understand me when you’re older. Then you’ll see how men can blind you. And I mean blind you. To the point that you’re no longer yourself.

[she felt] sorry for herself, for getting older, for being mortal, for all the music she still wanted to hear, the books she intended to read, the places she had meant to visit, the things...

I think part of me doesn’t want to remember him, for fear of missing him too much.

You chose to live here now. You should try to live in the present.

I can’t say why some memories float and other sink.

Jealousy is a disease, it’s like a poison.

Whenever she walked along the streets of Manhattan, she looked at all the different faces coming toward her and, despite their different features and colors, she regarded them all as Americans.

Love sometimes makes people ruthless in a way that not even hatred can.