“The stories had become a part of her by then; they stuck to her bones like a good meal, bloomed inside of her like a garden. They were as deep and meaningful as any other trait Dad had passed along to her: her blue eyes, her straw-colored hair, the sprinkling of freckles across her nose.”

“pg 13 the day ahead of her is like something living and breathing, something that is barreling towards her at an alarming rate and it seems only a matter of time before it will knock her flat on her back.”

“People talk about books being an escape, but here on the tube, this one feels more like a lifeline...The motion of the train makes her head rattle, but her eyes lock on the words the way a figure skater might choose a focal point as she spins, and just like that, she's grounded again.”

“I never said I was good,” he told her, taking the pen. “Just that I liked doing it.”“That’s the best kind of good.”

“He was a professor, a lover of stories, and he was building her a library in the same way other men might build their daughters houses.”

“The idea that their paths might have easily not crossed leaves her breathless, like a near-miss accident on a highway, and she can't help marveling at the sheer randomness of it all. Like any survivor of chance, she feels a quick rush of thankfulness, part adrenaline and part hope.”

“Emily tucks her knees up beneath her and leans forward on the table. 'Do you like Ryan?' she asks Nick, and Mom's eyes go wide. Kevin chokes a little on his water. Mortified, Ryan looks away, holding her breath.Nick turns to Emily, and with mock seriousness, leans down to consult with her. 'Do you like Ryan?'Emily considers this a moment, tapping a finger against her lips in thought. 'I guess most of the time,' she says finally. 'I guess she's okay.''Then I think so too' he says, turning back to the rest of the table. He winks at Ryan. 'We've decided you're okay.'She breathes out. 'I can live with that.”