“We talked and talked and talked. Maybe love comes in at the eyes, but not nearly as much as it comes in at the ears, at least in my experience. As we talked, lights flicked on inside my head; by the end of the night I was a planterium.”

“What do you talk about to a murderer, and someone you loved, over a perfect dinner and cocktails? I wanted to know so many things, but I couldn't ask any of the real-questions pounding in my head. Instead, we talked of the coming vacation days, a "plan" for the here and now in the islands.”

“The end comes when we no longer talk with ourselves. It is the end of genuine thinking and the beginning of the final loneliness”

“And what about tomorrow then? And all the tomorrows to come? Why can't we talk about it? Why can't we ever talk about it?”

“On our honeymoon we talked and talked. We stayed in a beachfront villa, and we drank rum and lemonade and talked so much that I never even noticed what color the sea was. Whenever I need to stop and remind myself how much I once loved Andrew, I only need to think about this. That the ocean covers seven tenths of the earth's surface, and yet my husband could make me not notice it.”

“We should talk," he said from behind me.I closed my eyes. "You always want to talk," I muttered. "But you never actually say anything with meaning.”