“A man says something. Sometimes it turns out to be the truth, but this has nothing to do with the man who says it.”

“A man says something. Sometimes it turns out to be the truth, but this has nothing to do with the man who says it. What we say occupies a very thin surface, like the skin over a body of water. Beneath this, through the water itself, is what we see, sometimes clearly if the water is calm, sometimes vaguely if the water is troubled, and we imagine this vision to be the truth, clear or vague. But beneath this is yet another level. This is the level of what is and this level has nothing to do with what we say or what we see.”

“Arriving late was a way of saying that your own time was more valuable than the time of the person who waited for you.”

“There was something appealing in thinking of a character with a secret life that her author knew nothing about. Slipping off while the author's back was turned, to find love in her own way. Showing up just in time to deliver the next bit of dialogue with an innocent face.”

“What should we read next?” Bernadette asked. “Pride and Prejudice is my favorite.So let’s do that,” Sylvia said.Are you sure, dear?” Jocelyn asked,I am. It’s time. Anyway, Persuasion has the dead mother. I don’t want to subject Prudie to that now. The mother in Pride and Prejudice on the other hand…”Don’t give anything away,” Grigg said. “I haven’t read it yet.”Grigg had never read Pride and Prejudice.Grigg had never read Pride and Prejudice.Grigg had read The Mysteries of Udolpho and God knows how much science fiction – there were books all over the cottage – but he’d never found the time or inclination to read Pride and Prejudice. We really didn’t know what to say.”

“Marriage seemed like such a small space whenever I was in it. I liked the getting married. Courtship has a plotline. But there's no plot to being married. Just the same things over and over again. Same fights, same friends, same things you do on a Saturday. The repetition would start to get to me.”

“It was long past time to change the subject. “The boy playing the bagpipes is really good,” Prudie said.If only she’d said it in French! Trey made a delighted noise. “Nessa Trussler. A girl. Or something.”Prudie looked at Nessa again. There was, she could see now, a certain plump ambiguity. Maybe Trey wouldn’t tell anyone what she’d said. Maybe Nessa was perfectly comfortable with who she was. Maybe she was admired throughout the school for her musical ability. Maybe pigs could jig.”