“She turned up the volume. I listened for a second to the high-pitched garble of Italian. "Taffeta," I said, "how is this your favorite part? You don't even know what the words mean.""I do too," she insisted."No you don't--they're in another language.""Yes I do, Grace." She swiveled the volume knob. "Listen.”

“I guess I work in small ways. It's kind of like this story someone told me, about a guy on the beach in Mexico throwing starfish in the sea. Thousands had washed ashore. Someone asked him why - 'Why are you wasting your time, when there are so many? You can't possibly make a difference.'""I know that story! The man threw another one back, and said -""'Made a difference to that one!'" Rowan finishes.”

“I know that this time, the worst thing I can do is let go. And I won't be losing anything. Because it's the most selfish thing I could ever do—to allow myself to fall for someone worthwhile.”

“Isn't that what your memory was about, Bria? Losing control?" I pause. "I never knew memories were about anything. Besides the obvious. You make them sound like dreams -- subject to interpretation.""I think the two are more related than we realize. It's all in how our minds frame them. How we decide what -- and how -- we remember.”

“I think I kind of get it," I say. "Your Wanderlove thing.""Oh Yeah?""It's about always looking toward the future. You can appreciate the good things all around you, but the best part is imminent, just out of reach. Like... perpetual anticipation.”

“I know what it's like. To sabotage yourself. Nothing makes you hate yourself more than that.”

“I want to draw you. All of you.' Then I pause. 'That came out wrong-you can keep your clothes on.”