“I began to tremble and he noticed. Why do I have to like the worst ones? I thought, why do I have to be attracted to the most brooding, least cultured, most desperate ones? It's a question I ask myself twice a year. I still haven't found an answer.”

“I have a couple of questions," he said."Do, please, go ahead.""My first one is for Yassen Gregorovich." He turned to the Russian. "Why are you working for this lunatic?""I sometimes think that I was richer when I was eight years old than most people will be in their lifetime!""Do we have to listen to this?" Alex asked.”

“People ask me all the time why I write. I do realize that one day I will have to answer this question, most likely in front of a large crowd. But how do you tell the truth when you struggle just to write it? How do you admit that the words are just salve to the things you are too afraid to say?”

“Why are you interested in me?” He asked quietly. Hmm. How to answer that one? I didn’t want to tell him that I thought he was the most gorgeous creature I had ever seen and wanted to have his babies. That might be a little much.”

“Sometimes I ask myself, "Do I have the courage to do the right thing when it matters most?" And that answer, I'm afraid, is silence.”

“Why do you love me?” I sigh at the question I’ve asked myself frequently over the years. With a quick peck to his lips, I tell him, “Because, in you, I found my heart.”