“The most confident of women are those who believe in every scrap of fabric they wear. They are the ones who are as happy wih their drawers as they are with their gowns. You can tell the difference between a woman who wraps herself in beautiful silks and satins and she who wears...otherwise.”

“They had lied, those who had extolled the virtues of love—its pleasures, its sublimity—those who had told her that it was beautiful and worthwhile.There was nothing beautiful about it.It was awful.”

“Leave it to the English to fabricate a lake,” she tossed over her shoulder to Carla, who snickered.“And leave it to the Italians to fall into it!”“I was retrieving my hat!”“Ah . . . that makes it all much more logical. Do you even know how to swim?”“Do I know how to swim?” she asked, and he took more than a little pleasure in her offense.“I was raised on the banks of the Adige! Which happens to be a real river.”“Impressive,” he said, not at all impressed. “And tell me, did you ever swim in said river?”“Of course! But I wasn’t wearing”—she waved a hand to indicate her dress—“sixteen layers of fabric!”“Why not?”“Because you don’t swim in sixteen layers of fabric!”“No?”“No!”“Why not?” He had her now.“Because you will drown!”“Ah,” he said, rocking back on his heels. “Well, at least we’ve learned something today.”

“everyone who sees us -- especially Stanhope, who has been friends with us both for years -- knows we're just out for a ride. Not out for a ride."He looked at her, shaking his head in confusion. "Women truly are strange and unknowable creatures”

“If I were anyone else…your opera singer…the woman across the hall…would you have apologized?”He looked confused. “No…but you are neither of those women. You deserve better.”“Better,” she repeated, frustrated. “That’s just my point! You and the rest of society believe that it’s better for me to be set upon a pedestal of primness and propriety—which might have been fine if a decade on that pedestal hadn’t simply landed me on the shelf. Perhaps unmarried young women like our sisters should be there. But what of me?” Her voice dropped as she looked down at the cards in her hands. “I’m never going to get a chance to experience life from up there. All that is up there is dust and unwanted apologies. The same cage as hers”—she indicated the woman outside—“merely a different gilt.”

“You should see what she’s wearing, Callie. It’s velvet. Canary yellow velvet. Turban to match. She looks like a furry banana.”

“She did not want to be that woman - the one of whom they spoke. She had never planned to be that woman. Somehow, it had happened, however...somehow, she had lost her way and, without realizing it, she had chosen this staid, boring life instead of a different, more adventurous one.”