“Sidda can't help herself. She just loves books. Loves the way they feel, the way they smell, loves the black letters marching across the white pages…”

“Love itself became the object of her love. She loved herself in love, she loved loving love, as love loves loving, and was able, in that way, to reconcile herself with a world that fell so short of what she would have hoped for.”

“She would bring you some great book because she was a book matchmaker, because she loved books the way other girls loved clothes.”

“I didn't mean to send love letters, but that is what they became. On their way to you, my words turned into heartbeats on the page.”

“The problem, of course, was that [he] saw the world in black and white. And he got to decide what was black and what was white. You can't love a person who lives that way without fearing him too. Maybe even hating him a little.”

“Love was that way. You could not render it in black or white. It always came down to the strange, blended shades of grey.”

“But she loves me. Me. Just the way I am.”

“Some books I buy for their title, others for brevity. I love short books - the way you know from the first page that it's going to end.”

“It would be far easier to go, 'Oh, I wish I loved women,' but I don't. I love the way a man thinks. I love the way a man smells. I love the way men look. And I'm hooked on the male physique--hooked on it.”

“I even love the smell of books.”