Fractured

Everyone had a reason for everything they did, even if that reason was sometimes stupidity.

You can only make decisions with the information you have at the time

His words hung between them, and Faith tried to pin down when exactly their relationship had gone from cooly professional to personal. There was something so kind about him under his awkward manners and social ineptness. Despite her best intentions, Faith realised that she could not hate Will Trent.

Talk about sloppy seconds. Was there such a thing as sloppy thousandths?

You don’t kidnap somebody if you love them. They come to you. They choose you. Not the other way around.

This seemed to be how dads taught their boys to be men, but there had to be a point, maybe early on, when they were able to hold their hands. One tiny one engulfed by one big one.

Her hearing had faded out as soon as he’d touched her—maybe it was the angels playing harps or the exploding fireworks. Maybe her drink was too strong or her heart was too lonely.

It was getting to be so ridiculous, she was surprised there weren't special schools for the boring, average children.

In Abigail’s experience, women certainly loved their mothers, but there was always some kind of thing that lived between them. Envy? History? Hate? This thing, whatever it was, made girls gravitate toward their fathers. For his part, Hoyt Bentley had relished spoiling his only child. Beatrice, Abigail’s mother, had resented the lost attention. Beautiful women did not like competition, even if it was from their own daughters.