Sometimes it seems to me that everything I have is chronic. My whole life is a chronic condition.

I believe in the unity of souls because I've seen it. I remember how my grandfather and grandmother lived together. But as for the rest, I know perfectly well how it will go, and how it will end.

Slamming the door as hard as you could was practically a family tradition in our house.

In general, Mark was right; love was a business predestined for failure. I should have poked my head out of the sand in time and asked whether my husband loved me or not.

They say that when people stop loving each other, they become indifferent. Is that what we were - indifferent?

Being tired is a luxury that a working woman can't afford, which is why I did my best to keep it together, to maintain an impossible juggling act: work, shopping, phone calls - endless, endless phone calls.

Andrei wasn't just ideal - he was unique. I didn't need the rest of the world when I had him; you could disappear into him and forget who you were.

I was going to be sick soon. I had certainly done some damage to the body while trying to numb the heart.

What was this? Was I jealous? Can you be jealous with of someone's relationship with a man you hate?