“She wore an ivory-white dress and held the world in her eyes. I barely remember thepriest's words or the faces of the guests, full of hope, who filled the church on that Marchmorning. All that remains in my memory is the touch of her lips and, when I half openedmy eyes, the secret oath I carried with me and would remember all the days of my life.”

“Her touch was as knowing and confident as her eyes, and as she focused all her attention upon me, I remembered that there is nothing so thrilling as a woman of words when she decides that the time for words is past.”

“I hate that she's hurt. I hate that she's been hurt, by me and by others, throughout the entire arc of her life. I barely remember pain, but when I see it in her I feel it in myself, in disproportionate measure. it creeps into my eyes, stinging, burning.”

“I always search for her; I always remember her. I carry the hope that someday she will remember me.”

“Most of all, I remember her laughing. It filled my ears. Her smile, her sparkling eyes, and her infectious laughter, along with the vistas, were limitless and unending and powerful.”

“The memory of him tracing the lines of my face filled me. I remembered the touch of his sensitive fingers, following my jawline, running down my neck to follow the curves of my body. I remembered his warmth, his laughter, and his eyes sparkling when I twisted a phrase to mean something entirely new and naughty. I remembered the way he made me feel needed, appreciated for who and what I was, never having to apologize for it, and the contentment I found in sharing ourselves. We’d been happy together. It had been great.”