Francesca Marciano

You know, when you're unhappy you don't have the strength left to take care of others. But it doesn't mean you don't love them.

It may be possible to forget our past but our past is not going to forget us.

These were the moments that would stick in her memory for years to come, those instants of perfect bliss that nothing else would ever match again.

I can't say why some memories float and other sink.

I think part of me doesn't want to remember him, for fear of missing him too much.

You'll understand me when you're older. Then you'll see how men can blind you. And I mean blind you. To the point that you're no longer yourself.

Whenever she walked along the streets of Manhattan, she looked at all the different faces coming toward her and, despite their different features and colors, she regarded them all as Americans.

Telling the truth can be a dirty job.

Passion - eventually it cools.

Maybe that's what happens with age, I thought. All your life you force yourself to forget people who have hurt you, but as you get older and weaker their memory surfaces again, like a bubble in the water. You have to surrender, because you feel to tired to fight it and push it down again. And maybe, unexpectedly, you find out that instead, of revamping your anger, those memories produce an unexpected sweetness.

It was nice to borrow a slice of extra time.

You chose to live here now. You should try to live in the present.

I didn't go there lightly. I knew even then that this was the beginning of something very hard to reverse. But I couldn't do otherwise now: I was too possessed

How can I explain this? Why is it you can never hope to describe the emotion Africa creates?You are lifted.Out of whatever pit, unbound from whatever tie, released from whatever fear. You are lifted and you see it all from above. Your pit, your ties, your fear. you are lifted, you slowly rise like a hot-air balloon, and all you see is the space and the endless possibilities for losing yourself in it.

Perhaps she just needed to remind herself more often how that gold was still floating above her head, it's minuscule particles visible only when pierced by a certain light.

Jealousy is a disease, it's like a poison.

Love sometimes makes people ruthless in a way that not even hatred can.

Are you lovers?""Excuse me?""Do you mind my asking you?""Yes.""It's off the record.""Then why do you need to know?"Daniel Moore smiled. A large, happy smile."Because I would like to ask you to dinner.