What can you say about a twenty-five-year-old girl who died?
That she was beautiful. And brilliant. That she loved Mozart and Bach. And the Beatles. And me.
That's the beginning of Love Story by Erich Segal. It hooks you right at the opening. The snappy dialogue gets you deeper into it:
"What the hell makes you so smart?" I asked.
"I wouldn't go for coffee with you," she answered.
"Listen-I wouldn't ask you."
"That," she replied, "is what makes you stupid."
It's not a great book, but it's short and cute and oh so bittersweet. At 125 pages, it's a novella not a novel. What can you really say about love? It always ends in tears. The last sentence of the book is perfect: