He's too much for Schuyler. They're wrong for each other. Anyone can see that. And when he leaves her, I'll be there. However long it takes, I'll still be there for her. Waiting.
Humans were not to be toyed with, they were to be respected.
I am not sorry for a moment . It was worth every moment, every second we were together. I would not change it for an immortal lifetime
Leave it alone Schuyler. For your sake and mine.
Joanna, like her daughters, was neither old nor young, and yet their physical appearances corresponded to their particular talents. Depending on the situation, Freya could be anywhere from sixteen to...
School was more than academics; an education prepared you for the humdrum of real life: working with others, tempering one's personality to assimilate with the group but without losing your individual...
Again.
Stop your doubting, my love. I knew you would find me. ~Jack
Jay.
Ollie I would never leave you, she whispered, and she knew she was telling the truth.-Schuyler
Schuyler grasped it tightly. She would never let go. Not in this lifetime.
Mimi walked out of church, knowing that if she ever saw Jack again, she would have to kill him.
She looked not like a mother in her thirties, but like the girl he had fallen in love with, and he loved her still. She would always be that girl to him, no matter what happened. That was love, after...
I love you, you know, Mimi said. You make me crazy, but God help me Jack, I do.I love you too, he replied.
I meant does it hurt when you hide every last shred of your individuality and self worth behind acres of silk and cups of powder and smiles that never, no matter how hard you try, reach your eyes?
It didn't help that she was painfully shy and kept to herself, because then they just thought she was stuck-up, which she wasn't. She was just quiet.
If you think we'll get in, we'll get in. It's all about confidence, trust me.
I want to kiss you so bad. But There's nothing here. You're not really here, are you? -Bliss
Brusquely
In other words, time was a kind of palimpsest, traces of the past peeking through the present, only to be written over in the future again.
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