“When we got to class, Andy reached in to my tote and set the rose on my desk. I didn’t understand why she had pulled it out. I had been very careful in making sure it wouldn’t get crushed. It wasn’t until I saw Jean tighten her brows when Andy said in a really loud voice, “David, that rose you gave Isis is beautiful,” that I understood Andy’s reason for putting the flower on display.”

“Dreamed of maman again. She was telling me—O cruelty!—that I didn’t really love her. But I took it calmly, because I was so sure it wasn’t true.The idea that death would be a kind of sleep. But it would be horrible if we had to dream eternally.(And this morning, her birthday. I always gave her a rose. Bought two at the little market of Mers Sultan and put them on my desk)”

“Are you gonna put your shirt back on?” she blurted out. Chase froze, looking over his shoulder at her with the most maddening smile. “Why? Is this bothering you?” “I just…” Andie sputtered, floundering through her response. “I mean, what if we get pulled over or something?” “If we get pulled over, this could only work in your favor,” he said, running his hands over his chest. Andie tried to stifle a laugh. “My God, you’re insufferable.”

“I wasn’t sure where to go from here. From the outside it seemed so straightforward. Leave, run away, start again. Julia had a lot going for her. She could have a whole new life. It clearly isn’t this straightforward as there are thousands of women like Julia who don’t leave or run away or start again. I would never really understand the complexities of Julia’s violent relationship but one thing was very clear. When she said that Andy had nobody else, what she was really saying was that she didn’t have anyone else. She was alone and, however difficult and abusive her relationship was, she clearly felt that it was all she had.”

“Baby, Andy once said that beauty is a sign of intelligence.'She turns slowly to look at me. 'Who, Victor? Who? Andy who?' She coughs, blowing her nose. 'Andy Kaufman? Andy Griffith? Who in the hell told you this? Andy Rooney?''Warhol,' I say softly, hurt. 'Baby...”

“The little prince went away, to look again at the roses."You are not at all like my rose," he said. "As yet you are nothing. No one has tamed you, and you have tamed no one. You are like my fox when I first knew him. He was only a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes. But I have made him my friend, and now he is unique in all the world."And the roses were very much embarassed."You are beautiful, but you are empty," he went on. "One could not die for you. To be sure, an ordinary passerby would think that my rose looked just like you--the rose that belongs to me. But in herself alone she is more important than all the hundreds of you other roses: because it is she that I have watered; because it is she that I have put under the glass globe; because it is she that I have sheltered behind the screen; because it is for her that I have killed the caterpillars (except the two or three that we saved to become butterflies); because it is she that I have listened to, when she grumbled, or boasted, or ever sometimes when she said nothing. Because she is my rose.”