“I hoped that she knew the truth--that it wasn't her fault, or my fault, or even his fault. No matter how many times I wanted to believe it was. This was my life, and this is how it was ending.”

“Really, it's my fault. It was there. A hundred times there. How often did I see it? I knew. It kept happening. Over and over, you'd say you were through with him...and over and over, I'd believe it...no matter what my eyes showed me. No matter what my heart told me. My. Fault.”

“My fault? How the hell is this"--I waved my arm across the table-- my fault?""You know we don't believe in hell, so stop using that word in our presence," Bridie said."Fine. How in fucked-up fairyland is this my fault?”

“They say nothing is my fault, and I wish they wouldn't say that. How can a man be forgiven if nothing is his fault?”

“Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa”—my fault, my fault, my most grievous fault—as she pounded her fist to her chest three times as if pounding shut a door to keep her guilt from escaping.”

“And it was different because I'd already lost her so many times, so many ways, in my head. And different because she was never really mine to lose.And different because this wasn't my fault.”