Henry was thinking of the younger Holland sister of the way she could go from being an impetuous girl to a knowing woman in a few seconds and never lose the stars in her eyes.

Love is all right, as things go, but lovers can be a terrible waste of a girl's time.

She thought of Henry and Diana on the stoop gazing at each other with the confusion and sadness of two puppies who have just stumbled into their first puddle and not yet come to understand what has happened to them and found that she wanted to lie extravagantly.

The first stab of love is like a sunset, a blaze of color -- oranges, pearly pinks, vibrant purples...

It was like the color of his eyes, she supposed - not quite one shade or another, and utterly unlike anyone else's.

The first stab of love is like a sunset, a blaze of color...