“I was crying on the back-porch swing. You came out with a corsage of fresh forget-me-nots and roses, and a handkerchief. You told me any guy worth my time would always come to me with flowers and a handkerchief. One to make me smile, and the other to dry my tears, because a smart guy knows women need to cry as much as they need to laugh.”

“I always knew looking back on my tears would bring me laughter, but I never knew looking back on my laughter would make me cry.”

“I once told you to leave and not to love me,” he cried out, muffled. “I’m taking all of that back. Not because I deserve it or because I’m worthy of your love. But because I need it like the air I breathe. I need you. I need you to believe in me. I need your love to make me feel like I can be redeemed.”

“The handkerchief dabbed at my forehead. 'Ouch! You'll have a fine-looking bruise tomorrow.''Then you'll be able to distinguish me from Rose.'The handkerchief paused. 'I could tell you apart from the beginning. You're quite different to each other, you know.'Perhaps he could tell, in the obvious ways. The odd one was Rose; the other odd one was Briony.”

“If you supplied me a tissue, I wouldn’t need it because I wouldn’t feel like crying. But if you withhold it, you’ll make me sad and you’ll make me cry, thus causing me to need the very thing you won’t give me. So if you give it to me, I won’t need it, and if you don’t give it to me, your actions end up causing me to need it.”

“I didn’t want my picture taken because I was going to cry. I didn’t know why I was going to cry, but I knew that if anybody spoke to me or looked at me too closely the tears would fly out of my eyes and the sobs would fly out of my throat and I’d cry for a week. I could feel the tears brimming and sloshing in me like water in a glass that is unsteady and too full.”