Quotes from Liane Moriarty

Renata and Harper attended the same weekly support group for parents of gifted children. Madeline imagined them all sitting in a circle, wringing their hands while their eyes shone with secret pride.

but her dreams didn't have the same ferocious entitlement as Stan's, because she was a woman, and women know that babies and husbands and sick parents can derail your dreams, at any moment they can drag you from your bed, they can forestall your career, they can lift you from your prized seat at Wimbledon from a match later described as "epic.

But the memory stayed, clinging to the walls of her mind like a slimy black leech.

It was just a plate, her father kept saying to Christina. He never understood what that plate represented: Disrespect. Disregard. Contempt.

Madeline traveled with ease through dozens of overlapping social circles, making both lifelong friends and lifetime enemies along the way; probably more of the latter.

Recently, she'd noticed something strange happening when she talked to people in groups. She couldn't quite remember how to be. She'd find herself thinking: Did I just laugh too loudly? Did I forget to laugh? Did I just repeat myself?

My husband hits me, Renata. Never on the face, of course. He's far too classy for that. Does yours hit you? And if he does, and this is the question that really interests me: Do you hit back?

Once, she'd loved to receive flowers. Now it was like being handed a series of tasks: Find the vase. Cut the stems. Arrange them like so.

She'd never wanted his gratitude, just his acknowledgment. Just once.

You'll be fine," said Jane, giving

You can still bake a perfectly good cake while losing your mind.

It's amazing how friends can slip through your fingers, how your social network can vanish like it never existed.

When you divorce someone, you divorce their whole family, Madeline had told her once.

It was interesting how a marriage instantly became public property as soon as it looked shaky.

She'd looked at the stubble along his jawline, and the thought had crossed her mind: He looks like Clark Kent, but maybe he's really Superman.

She was floating, arms outspread, water lapping her body, breathing in a summery fragrance of salt and coconut.

She'd been lacking in so much confidence when she was a teenager, worrying all the time about what people thought of her and how they might hurt her, without even considering the impact she might have on their feelings.

she thought about that too much and all it implied she could tap into a great well of rage, so she didn't think about it. That was the secret of a happy marriage: step away from the rage.

Over the years, 'organized' seemed to have become her most defining characteristic. It was like she was a minor celebrity with this one claim to fame. It was funny how once it became a thing that her family and friends commented on and teased her about, it seemed to perpetuate itself, so that her life was now extraordinarily well organized...

Where was the "exit" sign? Why did they make it so difficult to get out of shopping center parking lots? You'd done your shopping—they weren't going to get any more money out of you. What was their objective here?

It was why marriages fell apart. It was why, if you valued your marriage, you kept a barricade around yourself and your feelings and your thoughts. You didn't let your eyes linger. You didn't stay for the second drink. You kept the flirting safe. You just didn't go there.

They needed different personalities to retire with grace and verve like their friends. They needed to be less grumpy (Stan did) and have a wider variety of interests and hobbies beyond tennis. They needed grandchildren.

Try not to saddle yourself with too distinct a personality too early in life. It might not suit you later on.

She sucked in her stomach, ready to take it like a man, or at least like a romance novelist capable of reading her own royalty statements.