“It’s never the wedding dresses, you know. We keep those, too, but only because they’re so blooming expensive. No. I’ve seen enough old ladies’ closets to know what we really hold on to. Not the till-death-do-us-part dresses. It’s those first lovely dresses: the slow dance dresses, the good-night-kiss dresses. It’s those first pangs we hold on to.”

“It’s not about the dress you wear, but it’s about the life you lead in the dress.”

“Yesterday I had a woman ask me what kind of salad dressings we have. I told her we have sesame soy dressing, spicy lime vinaigrette, and blue cheese. She made a face and asked, 'Is that all?' 'Yes,' I told her, 'those are all of our dressings.' 'Don't you have any other dressings?' he says. I mean, what the hell? What does she think? That I'm holding out? I was tempted to say, "No, we actually have an entirely different assortment of dressings that I don't tell people about the first time they ask, because they don't deserve these great secret dressings. But now that you have proven your worth, I will show you to the VIP room, where the array of salad dressings will dazzle and delight you.”

“We do not last, she thinks. In the end, only the stories survive.”

“The Cavaliers’ Midsummer Party. Celebrate the lengthening of the nights with us. Dress like it’s your last night on earth. 21st June. Be ready and we will be waiting.”

“You’re going to make me dance to this, aren’t you?” he asked.“It’s Valentine’s Day, Finch. Pretend I’m a boy.”He laughed, pulling me into his arms. “It’s hard to do that when you’re wearing a short pink dress.”“Whatever. Like you’ve never seen a boy in a dress.”Finch shrugged. “True.”

“The groom should not see you in the dress just before the wedding, that’s bad luck. You know what’s worst luck? Is getting married, itself. I’ve read studies. It’s like 2 out of 3 of those end in divorce, sometimes more. 3 out of 2, some.”