“Even if I did speak Irish, I’d always be considered an outsider here, wouldn’t I? I may learn the password but the language of the tribe will always elude me, won’t it? The private core will always be ...hermetic, won’t it?”

“I always want you, Jules. Even when I hated you, even when I wished I’d never see your face again, I still lost my mind thinking all the things I’d do to you, if you came back.” His voice breaks. When he speaks again, it’s with a rough, ragged tone, like he’s forcing the words out. “I’ll always want you, Juliet. It’ll be the fucking death of me, but I won’t ever stop.”

“No Layla, I couldn’t. I won’t ever think he deserves you. I will always think he’s wrong for you and I willforever wish it was me in his place. But if being civil to him and pretending that I’m not completely obsessed with you is what it takes to keep you inmy life, I’ll do it and maybe, someday I won’t have to pretend anymore. But I wouldn’t hold my breath. I even promise to stop calling him names.”

“I don’t have any money to speak of. And if I did, what’s there to say? They say money talks, but it doesn’t talk to me. Money won’t even look at me half the time.”

“I’m always scared to death that I won’t do a role justice. But fear can be a great motivator.”

“Latin! The language of God! Or perhaps He speaks Hebrew? I suppose that’s more likely and it will make things rather awkward in heaven, won’t it? Will we all have to learn Hebrew?”