“Yeah, but where I come from, we have lights at night." "We do, too. They are called stars. They are quite romantic.”

“Where are we going?""East. To where the sun rises.""Seriously?"He thumped the dash-not too hard-and I actually felt a little burst of warm air. "You've been to Long Beach Island, right?You told me that in an e-mail.""yeah, Surf City.""We have a house in Barnegat Light. I thought we'd go there. We'll have breakfast somewhere and come back. You okay with that?"The beach. In late December. At night. "I'm absolutely fine with it.""So," he said."So.""We okay?""I think so," I answered. "I hope we'll be a lot better than that.""Yeah,me,too.”

“We enjoy the night, the darkness, where we can do things that aren't acceptable in the light. Night is when we slake our thirst.”

“Now that the bad weather had come, we could leave Paris for a while for a place where this rain would be snow coming down through the pines and covering the road and the high hillsides and at an altitude where we would hear it creak as we walked home at night. Below Les Avants there was a chalet where the pension was wonderful and where we would be together and have our books and at night be warm in bed together with the windows open and the stars bright. That was where we could go.”

“But even if we don't have the power to choose where we come from we can still choose where we go from there. We can still do things.”

“Where we would be together and have our books and at night be warm in bed together with the windows open and the stars bright. That was where we could go.”