“When is your birthday?” (…)Wide silver-gold eyes swung to him. “You don’t know?”“No.”Pouting, she twirled a strand of her hair. “How can you not know?”“Do you know mine?” he asked.“Of course I do. It’s the day you met me.”

“Speaking of, “When is your birthday?” Strider asked Kaia. Wide silver-gold eyes swung to him. “You don’t know?”“No.”Pouting, she twirled a strand of her hair. “How can you not know?”“Do you know mine?” he asked.“Of course I do. It’s the day you met me.As good a day as any. “No, it’s not, because that was a trick question, baby doll. I don’t actually have a birthday. I was created fully formed, not born.” True story.“You can be such a moron.” She threw up her arms, exasperated. “Don’t argue with me about this kind of thing. I’ll always be right. Seriously. You were dead until you met me and we both know it. Which means I brought you to life. So, happy belated birthday.”

“[Lena] “This is crazy, you know. How can you know me well enough to love me?”“Lena.” He pressed a kiss to her temple. “I know what I need to know. I know that your laugh makes me want to smile, and I know that when you’re sad, it bothers me. I know I love to watch you, I know you blush when you realize I’ve been staring at you, even though it makes you smile, too.”He combed a hand through her hair, angled her head, and brushed her mouth with his. “I may not know everything there is to know about you, Lena, but I do know I’d like to spend my life learning the things I don’t know.”

“How do you know me?" she says.He looks at her through his narrow eyes. "I was," he says."You were what?" she asks."I was," he says again. "And now I'm not.”

“You don't know anything about me.""I know you bite your bottom lip when you get nervous. I know you twirl your hair when you're amused. And when you get shy, your smile is lopsided."~Chance”

“He gives me a kiss that barely touches my lips – it means nothing or everything. After he’s gone, I think, Happy birthday to me.Jack says, ‘That was the guy?’‘That was him.’Jake shakes his head.‘What?’‘He’s not for you,’ he says.I say, ‘How do you know?’ but what I mean is, How do you know?‘He’s like Ashley Wilkes,’ he says. ‘Any one of these guys is Rhett-ier than he is.’Again, I ask my benignly inflected, ‘How do you know?’‘How do I know?’ he says, tackling me into a bear hug. ‘How do I know? I know, that’s how I know.”