“Who says I breathe music? Who says I even breathe?”

“You know, I thought about that a lot these last couple of years," She says in a choked voice. "About who was there for you. Who held your hand while you grieved for all that you'd lost?”

“Everyone takes a turn, and when it gets to me, I shout out what Jewish people say at times like this: "L'chaim!" "It means 'to life,'" I explain. And as I say it, I think that maybe this is what I was saying a prayer for back in the cathedral. To life.”

“I don't know who I am. Or maybe I do know who I am and I just don't want to be her anymore.”

“I like French fries," I say. I like French fries? I sound like a slow child in a made-for-TV movie.”

“I think you're the sort of person who finds money on the ground and waves it in the air and asks if anyone has lost it. I think you cry in movies that aren't even sad because you have a soft heart, though you don't let it show. I think you do things that scare you, and that makes you braver than those adrenaline junkies who bungee-jump off bridges.”

“This is myself, baby. All of my selves. I own each and every one of them. I know who I'm pretending to be and who I am." The look he gives me is withering. "Do you?”