What he knew, he knew from books, and books lied, they made things prettier.

He sits at the table and reads novels, old favorites of his, the words and plots and characters comforting and lived-in and unchanged.

He joined Jude in the kitchen and began making a salad, and JB slumped to the dining-room table and started flipping through a novel Jude had left there. "I read this," he called over to him. "Do you want to know what happens in the end?"

"No, JB," said Jude. "I'm only halfway through."

"The minister character dies after all."

"JB!"

After that, JB's mood seemed to improve.

Any frequent visitor to Hawaii is fixated on mapping how the islands have changed since their last visit.

One of the fun things about unreliable narrators is they can be funny. You can admire things about them and laugh with them.

Everyone thought they would be friends for decades, forever. But for most people, of course, that hadn't happened. As you got older, you realized that the qualities you valued in the people you slept with or dated weren't necessarily the ones you wanted to live with, or be with, or plod through your days with. If you were smart, and if you were lucky, you learned this and accepted this. You figured out what was most important to you and you looked for it, and you learned to be realistic.