156 Quotes by Elin Hilderbrand

Every life contains a novel.

The special was a tomato salad with bacon, basil, and blue cheese. It was a work of art. Fiona had found a rainbow of heirloom tomatoes- red, orange, yellow, green, purple, yellow with green stripes- and she stacked them on the plate in a tower as colorful as children's blocks.

Lust is great in the bedroom, but like is better at breakfast, lunch and dinner.

She had thought it would descend over her like a fog, turning things fuzzy, coloring them gray. But depression was active, it paced back and forth wringing its hands.

This was Antonio's interpretation of "anything": succulent black olives, sun-dried tomatoes and marinated artichokes, three kinds of salami, tiny balls of fresh mozzarella, roasted cherry tomatoes, some kind of creamy eggplant dip that made her swoon, and a basket of warm focaccia.

It was like we had known all along that the sky was going to fall and then it fell and we pretended to be surprised.

Also, she doesn't want to hear anyone else's inspiring story about a sister-in-law who went through exactly the same thing and is now running ultramarathons. Celeste doesn't mean to be ungenerous in her thoughts, but she has come to the chilling conclusion that we are all alone in our bodies. Irrefutably, immutably alone. And hence, no one's story offers hope.

All her life, Claire had had a problem figuring out where other people ended and she began. All her life, she’d taken on the world’s hurt; she held herself responsible. But why?

...Every life contains a novel.