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Jennifer E. Smith

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“Molti ritengono i libri un modo per evadere dalla realtà, ma quello che lei stringe in mano è ben di più: un'autentica àncora di salvezza. Appena comincia a sfogliare le prime pagine, tutto il resto scompare: lo sfarfallio di gomiti e borse, la donna con il camicione che si rosicchia le unghie, le due ragazzine che ascoltano musica a tutto volume con gli auricolari e persino il tizio che strimpella il violino in fondo al convoglio diffondendo una stridula melodia. / Nonostante gli scossoni del treno, il suo sguardo si concentra sulla pagina allo stesso modo in cui un pattinatore fissa un punto di riferimento per eseguire una piroetta. Quel libro è il punto di riferimento che la tiene ancorata a terra.”

“That they were left with only this--this awkward, prearranged meet-up, this terrible silence--seemed almost more than she could bear, and the unfairness of it all welled up inside of her. It was his fault, all of it, and yet her hatred for him was the worst kind of love, a tortured longing, a misguided wish that made her heart hammer in her chest. She couldn't ignore the disjointed sensation that they were now two different pieces of two different puzzles, and nothing in the world could make them fit together again.”

“I love Graham Larkin,” she said quietly, her voice full of emotion, and there was a flicker of surprise on his face, and then his expression softened. “You’re supposed to shout it,” he said, smiling as she tugged on the brim of the cap, forcing him to lower his face, bringing him closer and closer until their lips met. And even though they were in the middle of one of the biggest cities in the world, lost in a sea of concrete and wood and metal, she could almost swear he tasted like the ocean.”

“Beside her, she can feel each breath he draws. How is it possible to be so close to a person and still not know what you are to each other? With baseball, it's simple. There's no mystery to what happens on the field because everything has a label -- full count, earned run, perfect game -- and there's a certain amount of comfort in this terminology. There's no room for confusion and Ryan wishes now that everything could be so straightforward. But then Nick pulls her closer, and she rests her head on his chest, and nothing seems more important that this right here.”

“Now Hadley presses her forehead against the window of the taxi and once again finds herself smiling at the thought of him. He's like a song she can't get out of her head. Hard as she tries, the melody of their meeting runs through her mind on an endless loop, each time as surprisingly sweet as the last, like a lullaby, like a hymn, and she doesn't think she could ever get tired of hearing it.”

“He was surprised to find how much he missed writing to her. For so many months, she'd been the person on the other end of all his musings, and now she was gone and his thoughts were left buzzing around inside his head like frantic fireflies in a jar. He hadn't realized how much it could mean, having someone to talk to like that; he hadn't realized that it could be a kind of lifeline, and that without it, there would be nobody to save you if you started to drown.”