“I adore Wilkie Collins,” Tessa cried. “Oh—Armadale! And The Woman in White …Are you laughing at me?”“Not at you,” said Will, grinning, “more because of you. I’ve never seen anyone get soexcited over books before. You’d think they were diamonds.”“Well, they are, aren’t they? Isn’t there anything you love like that? And don’t say ‘spats’ or ‘lawn tennis’ or something silly.”“Good Lord,” he said with mock horror, “it’s like she knows me already.”

“I want you to say dreadfully mad, funny things and make up songs and be--' The Will I fell in love with, she almost said. "And be Will," she finished instead. "Or I shall hit you with my umbrella."***"You would make a very ugly woman.""I would not. I would be stunning."Tessa laughed. “There,” she said. “There is Will. Isn’t that better? Don’t you think so?” “I don’t know,” Will said, eyeing her. “I’m afraid to answer that. I’ve heard that when I speak, it makes American women wish to strike me with umbrellas.”

“Eliza—” I said, “so many of the books I’ve read to you said love was the most important thing of all. Maybe I should tell you that I love you now.” “Go ahead,” she said. “I love you, Eliza,” I said. She thought about it. “No,” she said at last, “I don’t like it.” “Why not?” I said. ”It’s as though you were pointing a gun at my head,” she said. “It’s just a way of getting somebody to say something they probably don’t mean. What else can I say, or anybody say, but, ‘I love you, too’?”

“Tell me, Mr. DeMarco. What’s love to you?”[…]He glared at his teacher. “I think it’s ridiculous you’re even trying to define it like it’s something material you can just go find if you want it. People use the word too loosely as it is. They say they love this and they love that, when they don’t. They just like the shi— uh, stuff. Love is something that changes you, and if you really loved all the crap you say you love, you’d never know who you were because you’d constantly be changing. Once you love, you love forever. You can’t help it.”

“I've never seen anyone get so excited over books before. You'd think they were diamonds.”

“I love you, Eliza,” I said.She thought about it. “No,” she said at last, “I don’t like it.”“Why not?” I said.“It’s as though you were pointing a gun at my head,” she said. “It’s just a way of getting somebody to say something they probably don’t mean. What else can I say, or anybody say, but, ‘I love you, too’?”