“You've got to work with your mistakes until they look intended. Understand?”
“There is no answer. It's okay. But even if it wasn't okay, what am I supposed to do?”
“I'm always learning something. Learning never ends.”
“She won't give him back his look.”
“They talked on into the early morning, the high, pale cast of light in the windows, and they did not think of leaving.”
“In short, everything about his life was different for him at the bottom of that well.”
“Close your eyes now,' the blind man said to me. I did it. I closed them just like he said.
'Are they closed?' he said. 'Don't fudge.'
'They're closed,' I said.
'Keep them that way,' he said. He said, 'Don't stop now. Draw.'
So we kept on with it. His fingers rode my fingers as my hand went over the paper. It was like nothing else in my life up to now.
Then he said, 'I think that's it. I think you got it,' he said. 'Take a look. What do you think?'
But I had my eyes closed. I thought I'd keep them that way for a little longer. I thought it was something I ought to do.
'Well?" he said. 'Are you looking?'
My eyes were still closed. I was in my house. I knew that. But I didn't feel like I was inside anything.
'It's really something,' I said.”
“He seemed full of some goodness she didn't understand”
“Maybe once, maybe years ago, I was a different kind of human being. I've forgotten, I don't know for sure.”
“In those olden days, when they built cathedrals, men wanted to be close to God”
“The men who began their life's work on [the cathedrals], they never lived to see the completion of their work.”
“Los sueños son eso de lo que uno se despierta.”
“Then i don't know I remembered how he was when he was nineteen, the way he looked, running across this field to where his dad sat on a tractor, hand over his eyes, watching Wes run toward him - Chef's House”
“I knocked stuff out of the medicine cabinet. Things rolled into the sink. ‘Where’s the aspirin?’ I said. I knocked down more things. I didn’t care. ‘Goddamn it,’ I said. Things kept falling.”
“He was going somewhere, he knew that. And if it was the wrong direction, sooner or later he'd find it out.”
“Then I said something. I said, Suppose, just suppose, nothing had ever happened. Suppose this was for the first time. Just suppose. It doesn’t hurt to suppose. Say none of the other had ever happened. You know what I mean? Then what? I said.
Wes fixed his eyes on me. He said, Then I suppose we’d have to be somebody else if that was the case. Somebody we’re not. I don’t have that kind of supposing left in me. We were born who we are. Don’t you see what I’m saying?
I said I hadn’t thrown away a good thing and come six hundred miles to hear him talk like this.
He said, I’m sorry, but I can’t talk like somebody I’m not.
I’m not somebody else. If I was somebody else, I sure as hell wouldn’t be here. If I was somebody else, I wouldn’t be me.
But I’m who I am. Don’t you see?”
“. . . a boy and girl in love, burning with it.”
“Something just like it happened to me once, something like what you're describing. Love. That's what it is.”
“I’m saying that at the end of the summer she let the blind man run his hands over her face, said good-bye to him, married her childhood etc., who was now a commissioned officer, and she moved away from Seattle.”
“But he understood it was over, and he felt able to let her go. He was sure their life together had happened in the way he said it had. But it was something that had passed. And that passing--though it seemed impossible and he'd fought against it--would become part of him now, too, as surely as anything else he'd left behind.”
“Frine gestured toward her. 'This new power of yours is dangerous, Kara.'
'These are dangerous times.”
“I remember everything, Trent. Not just the bad, but the good, too.”
“When one looks back across a chasm of seventy years, through a prism of pulp fiction and bad gangster movies, there is a tendency to view the events of 1933-34 as mythic, as folkloric. To the generations of Americans raised since World War II, the identities of criminals such as Charles “Pretty Boy” Floyd, Baby Face Nelson, “Ma” Barker, John Dillinger, and Clyde Barrow are no more real than are Luke Skywalker or Indiana Jones. After decades spent in the washing machine of popular culture, their stories have been bled of all reality, to an extent that few Americans today know who these people actually were, much less that they all rose to national prominence at the same time.”
“Now you know what it’s liked to be exposed, siren. Completely. Fucking. Exposed. Left for everyone to witness you bleeding out while the person you love turns their back on you. Welcome to my hell,” he replies calmly.”
“Shadows of cloud lurked in the water, like holes the sun forgot about.”
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