“She had a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach, like when you're swimming and you want to put your feet down on something solid, but the water's deeper than you think and there's nothing there”
“One of the the things she most liked about the city -apart from all its obvious attractions, the theatre, the galleries, the exhilarating walks by the river- was that so few people ever asked you personal questions.”
“If you were lucky, very lucky indeed, there were one or two people in your life who you could tell the unvarnished truth too, shell and egg. And that these people held the essence of you inside them. The rest would be conversations that ended when night fell, or the dinner part ended.”
“Estou sempre a fazer isto com as pessoas. Ponho-as de parte antes de as conhecer, ou acho que a simpatia, um certo tipo de abertura, é uma forma de fraqueza”
“Gracias a la vida que me ha dado tanto”
“Abril é o mês mais cruel, gera lilases da terra morta, mistura a memória e o desejo, mistura raízes dormentes com chuva de Primavera.”
“He’d told her how orphaned birds would sometimes accept the most pathetic substitutes for their mothers—a pullover, a hot-water bottle, an armpit, or even a paper airplane—anything rather than nothing, but preferably something that moved.”
“There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy”
“…those were the subjects that Barber dealt with as a historian, and no matter how scrupulous and profession he was in treating them, there was always a personal motive behind his work, a secret conviction that he was somehow digging into the mysteries of his own life.”
“You don't love him. You only love that he loves you.”
“He barely managed not to choke it into free fall, atomized. Thick, green, herbal, sweet as syrup—he nearly gagged on the sweetness—perhaps sixty percent pure ethanol. But what was the rest of it? It burned down his esophagus, making him feel suddenly like an animated display of the digestive system, with all the different parts picked out in colored lights. Respectfully, he wiped the mouthpiece on his sleeve and handed the bottle to its owner, who tucked it back under his arm. “Thanks,” Miles gasped. Mayhew nodded. “So how,” Miles aspirated, then cleared his throat to a more normal tone, “what are you planning to do next? What are you demanding?”
“She spent her days trying to forget the sound of his voice, and her nights trying to remember.”
“Charles was most comfortable by himself or, if that wasn't possible, with his pack in the wild. Talking for hours in a crowded auditorium was not on any list of things he enjoyed—or things he was good at. At least no one had died. Yet.”
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