Susan Vreeland · 434 pages
Rating: (6.5K votes)
“I've come to think that if doing something simple or silly can give a person pleasure, then, by God, do it”
“He had a thought that amused him. "Figures, still life, landscape, AND an animal! Zola, eat your hat!" he bellowed.”
“At this stage of life, he'd better just lean into love, because if he fell, he feared he might break a hip.”
“If you want to preach, young man, you ought to wear some kind of clerical costume so people would be warned. In my mind, there are too many unpleasant things in life as it is without creating still more of them. I hate le misérabilisme. I’m in the shining business, not the darkening business.”
“She plucked a raspberry. Sweet juice, sweet pleasure. Within the tangle of tendrils, inside a blossom, a tiny bead was kisses and blessed by the sun, from which it took in light and warmth and heaven's rain imbued with the richness of the soil of France. All of the elements of the river world helped that bead to expand and multiply into sheer casings for sweet pulp, wedge together in a knobby globe until it released its juice in her mouth”
“One more thing. She wears Patchouli. Every tart in Montmartre wears it. Place Pigalle reeks of it. If she wants to carry out her pose as an aristocrat, she ought to refine her tastes.”
“life we can’t control, she thought. We must accept the cork we are and stay afl, and bob gaily when we can. She”
“How does one end a moment like this? It would kill her to feel him pull away. She had to be first. In a moment. One moment more. Yes. Now”
“James and Joseph held each other by the hand”
“I'm dying of AIDS, but I'm dying by accident. I didn't choose, it was a mistake. I thought it was a white's or homosexual's or monkey's or druggie's sickness. I was born a Tutsi, it's written on my identity card, but I'm a Tutsi by accident. I didn't choose, that was a mistake too. My great-grandfather learned from the whites that the Tutsis were superior to the Hutus. He was Hutu. He did everything possible so his children and grandchildren would become Tutsis. So here I am, a Hutu-Tutsi and victim of AIDS, possessor of all the sicknesses that are going to destroy us. Look at me, I'm your mirror, your double who's rotting from the inside. I'm dying a bit earlier than you, that's all.”
“It's the only thing that keeps me going these days, travelling. Changes of scene, changes of faces”
“We have become victims of our own art. We touch people on the outsides of their bodies, and they us, but we cannot get to their insides and cannot reveal our insides to them. This is one of the great tragedies of our interiority-it is utterly personal and unrevealable. Often we want to say something unusually intimate to a spouse, a parent, a friend, communicate something of how we are really feeling about a sunset, who we really feel we are-only to fall strangely and miserably flat. Once in a great while we succeed, sometimes more with one person, less or never with others. But the occasional break-through only proves the rule. You reach out with a disclosure, fail, and fall back bitterly into yourself.”
“But by nature, the human heart yearns most for what it cannot have.”
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