“Oh, there was harm indeed for a young lady flattered by the brief attentions of a handsome man.”

“The house, she'd explained to them many times, had spoken to her; she'd listened, and it turned out they'd understood one another very well indeed. Greenacres was an imperious old lady, a little worn, to be sure, cranky in her own way-but who wouldn't be?”

“They were young; time hadn't yet rubbed at them, polishing their differences and sharpening their opinions...”

“Oh, Grey, no one really likes keeping secrets. The only thing that makes a secret fun is knowing that you weren't supposed to tell it.”

“Man konnte die Zeit nicht zurückdrehen, das war reines Wunschdenken, aber man konnte dem Jetzt auf andere Weise entkommen, und zwar indem man vorwärtsging.”

“He was a scribble of a man.”

“She'd filled twelve notebooks and still she hadn't stopped. Indeed, the more she wrote, the louder the stories seemed to grow, swirling in her mind, pressing against her head, anxious for release. She didn't know whether they were any good and in truth she didn't care. They were hers, and writing made them real somehow.”