Sometimes our passion is so strong that it makes a fool of us.

A desperate longing stopped her breath, as if he’d jumped already, leaving her behind. “Please,” he said. She took his hand and stepped beside him. She should have run away with him as soon as she could. Maybe every act of faith, as they got older, was meant to make up for an earlier lack of faith.

Prague might be the perfect place, after all: a city that valued anonymity, the desire to be no one and someone at once.

She was one of her kind, the most American she would ever be, the last American left in this hundred-year flood.

Hell or high water, Cupid marches on. In which war, he didn’t say.

Maybe every act of faith, as they got older, was meant to make up for an earlier act of faith.

Tell me a legend,” he said out of nowhere, and he realised they were making stories of each other, or themselves.