Quotes from Ann Napolitano

You know what Daddy would say when he saw Sylvie," Julia said in a quiet voice. Emeline and Izzy nodded, and Cecelia said, "Hello beautiful." —

She needed a backup to her mother, who

I could be mad at you. I could scream at you. But I won't. You raised me to take care of myself, and I will.

When he woke up in the hospital, dry, and saw Sylvie on a chair next to him, his first thought was that he'd failed. The fact that he had failed meant he had to continue to walk forward with his life history--his mistakes--slung over his shoulders like a heavy backpack. This fact exhausted him, but he was too tired to reject it.

extinguish their light and beauty with his gaze. This

his tractor beam of love at her. Charlie would have

What do you want? Sylvie wouldn't have asked this question before, because she would have been afraid of the answer, but she wanted to be deeply and truly herself and to experience the world in the deepest and truest way.

This is worth dying for. A driver with a firm jawline

reimagining herself. She was Julia's wild hair, she was the lake her husband had once been carried out of, and no matter what happened next, she was love.

Sylvie reached out for the notebook. Like him, she'd grown up going to confession in church. Entering the dark booth and lowering herself to the kneeler. Confessing her sins to the screen that separated her from the priest. William thought of that sacrament now and felt bad for all the children who were forced to divide their ordinary lives into sins and not-sins so they would have something to say to a cassocked stranger.

She could feel her friends' love pushing past her skin, into her body, and she cried too.

When an old person dies," Kent said, "even if that person is wonderful, he or she is still somewhat ready, and so are the people who loved them. They're like old trees, whose roots have loosened in the ground. They fall gently. But when someone like your aunt Sylvie dies—before her time—her roots get pulled out and the ground is ripped up. Everyone nearby is in danger of being knocked

Sylvie would love differently. She would celebrate whoever her beloved happened to be; she would be curious about his distinctiveness and sink into a love that was unblinkingly honest.

whoever she was becoming. She was grateful that her father had prepared her for this type of hard, lonely

William, that she had the capacity to raise these giant, beautiful sails and go.

class. Most people can't see that distinction, so they just do as they're told. Of course, this makes them bored and irritated, but they think that's the human condition. You and I are lucky enough to see that it doesn't have to be that way.

she liked to understand the whole arc of a story, especially when it came in the shape of a six-foot-seven man her beloved sister had brought into their family.

You'll all set sail, as you should, and leave your mother and me here. It's a tale as old as time.

She was her father's rocket.

They were too showy, too public. Deep love between two people was a private, wordless endeavor,

William liked it when his fiancée spoke like that; he admired how Julia saw her life as a system of highways to be expertly navigated, and he was grateful to be in her car.

When Sylvie was a child, she'd watched in amazement when friends, upset about a bad day at school or a slight from a boy they had a crush on, burst into tears at the sight of their mother. Their mother was their safe space, and so, with her, they felt every iota of their feelings.

They were dismantling their habits and routines, and it was like pulling up floorboards and finding joy underneath.

if her hands were full and she was wearing pants with no pockets.