“ISABEL: Sorry I missed my session Monday.
DR. RUSH: Would you like to tell me why?
ISABEL: I was depressed.
DR. RUSH: That's a good reason to come to therapy.”
“I'm sorry you're angry" is NOT an apology.”
“The next week she withheld my paycheck until I signed a document (drafted by David) in which I promised not to marry Connor. Ever. I signed the document, took the check, and had David draft another document forbidding all Spellmans to practice any form of blackmail. David tried to explain to me that a contract in which you promise not to break the law is ultimately redundant, but I didn't care.”
“It's not like I didn't think I had any demons. I did, but I could name them- and even provide an address and telephone number for each. As far as I was concerned, those demons could go to therapy instead of me.”
“vous plaît prendre vos vitamines. Chacun d’entre eux. SIMON & SCHUSTER READING GROUP GUIDE Revenge of the Spellmans by Lisa Lutz The times, they are a-changin’—and Isabel (Izzy) Spellman is trying desperately to hit the pause button.”
“Attacking an outsider makes them all insiders.”
“Protracted self-promotion drains something essential from the soul,”
“It is possible to insult Americans?”
“They are automatically insulted and enraged,” said the young composer. “They form splenetic organizations by the hundreds, and write letters to periodicals and congressmen. They gather in mobs and pay no attention. They hang people without trial and shoot citizens down with machine guns out of passing cars. They will despise you because you do not eat the same things they eat for breakfast. They even apply indifference.”
“Gloire de Dijon
When she rises in the morning
I linger to watch her;
She spreads the bath-cloth underneath the window
And the sunbeams catch her
Glistening white on the shoulders,
While down her sides the mellow
Golden shadow glows as
She stoops to the sponge, and her swung breasts
Sway like full-blown yellow
Gloire de Dijon roses.
She drips herself with water, and her shoulders
Glisten as silver, they crumple up
Like wet and falling roses, and I listen
For the sluicing of their rain-dishevelled petals.
In the window full of sunlight
Concentrates her golden shadow
Fold on fold, until it glows as
Mellow as the glory roses.”
“Do you write novels?" I said.
"Novels, Lord no," she said. "I can't even stay married.”
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