“Love makes you see a place differently, just as you hold differently an object that belongs to someone you love. If you know one landscape well, you will look at all other landscapes differently. And if you learn to love one place, sometimes you can also learn to love another.”
“There's a moment when love makes you believe in death for the first time. You recognize the one whose loss, even contemplated, you'll carry forever, like a sleeping child. All grief, anyone's grief...is the weight of a sleeping child.”
“Hold a book in your hand and you're a pilgrim at the gates of a new city.”
“Reading a poem in translation," wrote Bialek, "is like kissing a woman through a veil"; and reading Greek poems, with a mixture of katharevousa and the demotic, is like kissing two women. Translation is a kind of transubstantiation; one poem becomes another. You choose your philosophy of translation just as you choose how to live: the free adaptation that sacrifices detail to meaning, the strict crib that sacrifices meaning to exactitude. The poet moves from life to language, the translator moves from language to life; both like the immigrant, try to identify the invisible, what's between the lines, the mysterious implications.”
“Like other ghosts, she whispers; not for me to join her, but so that, when I'm close enough, she can push me back into the world.”
“Any given moment—no matter how casual, how ordinary—is poised, full of gaping life.”
“When my parents were liberated, four years before I was born, they found that the ordinary world outside the camp had been eradicated. There was no more simple meal, no thing was less than extraordinary: a fork, a mattress, a clean shirt, a book. Not to mention such things that can make one weep: an orange, meat and vegetables, hot water. There was no ordinariness to return to, no refuge from the blinding potency of things, an apple screaming its sweet juice.”
“But sometimes the world disrobes, slips its dress off a shoulder, stops time for a beat. If we look up at that moment, it's not due to any ability of ours to pierce the darkness, it's the world's brief bestowal. The catastrophe of grace.”
“...when we say we're looking for a spiritual adviser, we're really looking for someone to tell us what to do with our bodies. Decisions of the flesh. We forget to learn from pleasure as well as pain.”
“Some stones are so heavy only silence helps you carry them!”
“Trees, for example, carry the memory of rainfall. In their rings we read ancient weather—storms, sunlight, and temperatures, the growing seasons of centuries. A forest shares a history, which each tree remembers even after it has been felled.”
“Reading a poem in translation is like kissing a woman through a veil.”
“I'm naive enough to think that love is always good no matter how long ago, no matter the circumstances.”
“Once I was lost in a forest. I was so afraid. My blood pounded in my chest and I knew my heart's strength would soon be exhausted. I saved myself without thinking. I grasped the two syllables closest to me, and replaced my heartbeat with your name.”
“The spirit in the body is like wine in a glass; when it spills, it seeps into air and earth and light….It’s a mistake to think it’s the small things we control and not the large, it’s the other way around! We can’t stop the small accident, the tiny detail that conspires into fate: the extra moment you run back for something forgotten, a moment that saves you from an accident – or causes one. But we can assert the largest order, the large human values daily, the only order large enough to see.”
“That they were torn from mistakes they had no chance to fix; everything unfinished. All the sins of love without detail, detail without love. The regret of having spoken, of having run out of time to speak. Of hoarding oneself. Of turning one’s back too often in favour of sleep. I tried to imagine their physical needs, the indignity of human needs grown so extreme they equal your longing for wife, child, sister, parent, friend. But truthfully I couldn’t even begin to imagine the trauma of their hearts, of being taken in the middle of their lives. Those with young children. Or those newly in love, wrenched from that state of grace. Or those who had lived invisibly, who were never know.”
“In Michaela's favourite restaurant, I lift my glass and cutlery spills onto the expensive tiled floor. The sound crashes high as the skylight. Looking at me, Michaela pushes her own silverware over the edge. I fell in love amid the clattering of spoons....”
“When you are alone - at sea, in the polar dark - an absence can keep you alive. The one you love maintains your mind. But when she's merely across the city, this is an absence that eats you to the bone.”
“Love makes you see a place differently, just as you hold differently an object that belongs to someone you love.”
“The shadow past is shaped by everything that never happened. Invisible, it melts the present like rain through karst.”
“I saved myself without thinking. I grasped the two syllables closest to me, and replaced my heartbeat with your name.”
“The shadow-past is shaped by everything that never happened. Invisible, it melts the present like rain through karst. A biography of longing. It steers us like magnetism, a spirit torque. This is how one becomes undone by a smell, a word, a place, the photo of a mountain of shoes. By love that closes its mouth before calling a name.”
“Nothing erases the immoral act. Not forgiveness. Not confession. And even if the act could be forgiven, no one could bear the responsibility of forgiveness on behalf of the dead. Not act of violence is ever resolved when the one who can forgive can no longer speak; there is only silence.”
“Truth grows gradually in us, like a musician who plays a piece again and again until suddenly he hears it for the first time”
“Not long after our final lesson, on one of our Sundays at the lake, my father and I were walking along the shore when he noticed a small rock shaped like a bird. When he picked it up, I saw the quick gleam of satisfaction in his face and felt in an instant that I had less power to please him than a stone.”
“The shawl's bottom edge the clearest blue, as if it has been dipped in the sea. The blue of a glance.”
“The truth doesn't care what we think of it.”
“History and memory share events; that is, they share time and space. Every moment is two moments.”
“Though the contradictions of war seem sudden and simultaneous, history stalks before it strikes. Something tolerated soon becomes something good.”
“So what do you guys want to do first?” Claire asked excitedly from the backseat.
“Oh my God, Claire. I don’t know, but maybe you should ask us again in five minutes. We haven’t had enough time to think about it since the last time you asked.” Chelsea’s mood had gone downhill quickly during the car ride into the mountains, and she had lost her patience for everyone-including Claire-who was usually safe from her temper.
“Effin’-A, Chels, I was just asking.” Claire’s lips drew together tightly as she crossed her arms in front of her. It was as close to swearing as Claire ever got. Claire must have really been tired of Chelsea’s snippy tone.
Chelsea didn’t apologize; instead she closed her eyes and took another deep breath, leaning her head back against her seat.
“Do you want me to pull over again?” Jay asked, glancing anxiously at Chelsea in his rearview mirror. He shot a nervous look at Violet, and Violet knew exactly what he was thinking.
He didn’t want Chelsea to puke…in his car.
Chelsea sighed with annoyance. “Why, Jay? So I can walk around in the cold again, talking about how fucking-yeah, that’s right, Claire, I said fucking-sick I feel? No, thank you. Just keep driving. The sooner we get there, the sooner I get out of this hellhole.”
“No offense taken. Right, Jay?” Mike laughed, hitting Jay’s headrest playfully. Apparently he thought he was safe from Chelsea’s caustic remarks.
He wasn’t.
“That’s too bad,” Chelsea shot back without opening her eyes. “Maybe someone should take offense. Maybe it’s not the car making me sick, maybe it’s the driving.”
Violet started to laugh but caught herself, just barely, in time to stop the sound from actually escaping her lips. She covered her mouth with her hand so that only those with their eyes open could see her.
Ha-ha, Jay mouthed, when she glanced sideways in his direction, making it even harder to contain herself.
Sorry, she mouthed back to him, when she finally felt like she had enough control not to laugh.”
“But pain is pain, and the importance of preventing unnecessary pain and suffering does not diminish because the being”
“While Molly and Joseph Anning suffered materially that winter, with many days of weak soup and weaker fires, Mary barely noticed how little she was eating or the chilblains on her hands and feet. She was suffering inside.”
“over the years i have discovered a surprising but simple truth about young ladies and it is this: the more beautiful their faces, the less delicate their thoughts.”
“Now that it’s too late, now that I lie here dying on this bloodstained sand, I finally get it.
I understand, now.
I understand. I know what he meant. My father told me that to know
the enemy is half the battle. I know you, now. That’s right.
It’s you.
All of you who sit in comfort and watch me die, who see the twitch of
my bowels through my own eyes: You are my enemy.
Corpses lie scattered around me, gleanings left in a wheat field by a careless reaper. Berne’s body cools beneath the bend of my back, and I can’t feel him anymore. The sky darkens over my head—but no, I think that’s my eyes; Pallas’ light seems to have faded.
Every drop of the blood that soaks into this sand stains my hands and the hands of the monsters that put me here.
That’s you, again.
It’s your money that supports me, and everyone like me; it’s your lust that we serve.
You could thumb your emergency cut-off, turn your eyes from the screen, walk out of the theatre, close the book . . .
But you don’t.
You are my accomplice, and my destroyer.
My nemesis.
My insatiable blood-crazed god.
Ah, ahhh, Christ . . . it hurts.”
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