“The way she looks right now, you have to think about multiple car pile-ups. Imagine two bloodmobiles colliding head on. The way she looks, you'd have to think of mass graves to even log thirty seconds in the saddle. Think of spoiled cat food and ulcerated cankers and expired donor organs. That's how beautiful she looks.”

“Think of spoiled cat food and ulcerated cankers and expired donor organs. That's how beautiful she looks.”

“The idea hovered and shimmered delicately, like a soap bubble, and she dared not even look at it directly in case it burst. But she was familiar with the way of ideas, and she let it shimmer, looking away, thinking about something else.”

“She couldn't help thinking, even now about how handsome Damon looked, how wild and dark and ferocious and gorgeous. She could help thinking about the times he'd smiled at her, laughed at her, come to save her at her urgent call. She had honestly thought that someday... But now she felt as if her heart were breaking in two.”

“She sits in the driveway, freezing, for thirty-six minutes. Arguing with herself. Because she thinks she's in love with him too. And there are two ways she can be a fool in love right now. She chooses the harder one. And knocks on the door.”

“She understands now what she, in all her worry, had forgotten. That even as she hesitates and wavers, even as she thinks too much and moves too cautiously, she doesn't always have to get it right. It's okay to look back, even as you move forward.”