“It almost contradicts itself," she says after a moment. "It's as if there is love and loss at the same time, together in a kind of beautiful pain.”

“You send me all these roses.Every time I think the last bouquet has arrived, finally, another turns up.I’m running out of vases.I didn’t know roses came in so many colors.You say they’re the perfect symbols of love because they have thorns and love is pain.I say life is pain, highness. Anyone who says differently is selling something.And you don’t get it.You say you love me, but you don’t speak my language.You don’t even realize I’m an orchid girl.”

“What can you say about a twenty-five year old girl who died? That she was beautiful and brilliant. That she loved Mozart and Bach. The Beatles. And me.”

“And before he can tell her to tell Widget goodbye for him if need be, she leans forward and kisses him, not on the cheek, as she has a handful of times before, but on the lips, and Bailey knows in that moment that he will follow her anywhere.”

“Love hurts... but it's the kind of pain I don't mind enduring. Love is real- it's not a game to be played... Mess with and abuse love- it can cut you deeper than any blade.”

“It's not a real name," she says. "Not one that he's carried with him always. It's one he wears like his hat. So he can take it off if he wants.”

“I believe you have my umbrella" he says, almost out of breath but wearing a grin that has too much wolf in it to be properly sheepish.”