“She’s in danger right now, isn’t she?’ Her words squeaked. ‘Yes,”
“window of respite before he rose. She”
“I have been reminded that back in the day, eating was to provide fuel for work, a necessity of life as mundane as bathing or sleeping. Pleasurable, sure, but when did it become such an obsession? We are bombarded daily with adverts, images, ideas and offers, all urging us to eat more, eat better, eat different, eat cheaply, and then ironically the list of diets available to us to help balance the overconsumption are so varied and many that they are too numerous to list. Here’s an exercise: try to name six members of the current cabinet. Most people struggle after three. Now try naming me six diets. Easy, huh? As a food lover and writer, I can say that the eating, preparation and sourcing of food has been a lifelong pleasure. I believe that one of the greatest expressions of love is to cook for someone. For”
“I went away and drew up a list of all the things you wouldn’t have to suffer if you weren’t here anymore. It was something like this: No more illness, no more struggling to be healthy. No struggling – period. No loss: you would never have to grieve the passing of another. Heartbreak! How lovely not to have to wake in the morning with a heart full of fragments and eyes full of grit. No ageing – here’s a universal truth: the older you get, the more life loses its sparkle, loses a little of the magic. The endless, wonderful possibilities of youth where everything and anything feel possible – that fades . . . But then I considered all the things you would not experience: Falling hopelessly in love. Your wedding day. Knowing the blessing of a child. Seeing the sunset in places far and wide. Earning the right in old age to become eccentric, even cantankerous. Getting properly drunk on champagne. Sleeping in a meadow, by a brook. Decorating a room. Waking wrapped in the arms of the one you love. Fresh caught lobster, eaten on a dock. Being old enough to know better, but still laughing so hard at nothing much that you feel dizzy with happiness. Oh, my darling, this list is endless, it stretches on for infinity . . . And”
“She gasped when she recognised it as envy. For the briefest beat of time, she had wondered what it might feel like to have no children, to not have the worry, the desperate fretting that had accompanied every waking moment since walking from Mrs Janosik’s office. I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to think that! She closed her eyes,”
“don’t want her to go away, to be in a hospital with people like that.”
“You are poorly, so poorly, and now your tummy hurts.”
“Beauty is on the inside, beauty is goodness and it is nothing to do with a number or a dress size or a shape.”
“Do you ever feel that way?"
"Lonely?"
I search for the words. "Restless. As if you haven't really met yourself yet. As is you'd passed yourself once in the fog, and your heart leapt - 'Ah! There I Am! I've been missing that piece!' But it happens too fast, and then that part of you disappears into the fog again. And you spend the rest of your days looking for it."
He nods, and I think he's appeasing me. I feel stupid of having said it. It's sentimental and true, and I've revealed a part of myself I shouldn't have.
"Do you know what I think?" Kartik says at last.
"What?"
"Sometimes, I think you can glimpse it in another.”
“You never go away from us, yet we have difficulty in returning to You. Come, Lord, stir us up and call us back. Kindle and seize us. Be our fire and our sweetness. Let us love. Let us run.”
“I.
In the greenest of our valleys,
By good angels tenanted,
Once a fair and stately palace -
Radiant palace - reared its head.
In the monarch Thought's dominion -
It stood there !
Never seraph spread a pinion
Over fabric half so fair.
II.
Banners yellow, glorious, golden,
On its roof did float and flow;
(This - all this - was in the olden
Time long ago)
And every gentle air that dallied,
In that sweet day,
Along the ramparts plumed and pallid,
A winged odor went away.
III.
Wanderers in that happy valley
Through two luminous windows saw
Spirits moving musically
To a lute's well-tunéd law,
Round about a throne, where sitting
(Porphyrogene !)
In state his glory well befitting,
The ruler of the realm was seen.
IV.
And all with pearl and ruby glowing
Was the fair palace door,
Through which came flowing, flowing, flowing,
And sparkling evermore,
A troop of Echoes whose sweet duty
Was but to sing,
In voices of surpassing beauty,
The wit and wisdom of their king.
V.
But evil things, in robes of sorrow,
Assailed the monarch's high estate ;
(Ah, let us mourn, for never morrow
Shall dawn upon him, desolate !)
And, round about his home, the glory
That blushed and bloomed
Is but a dim-remembered story
Of the old time entombed.
VI.
And travellers now within that valley,
Through the red-litten windows, see
Vast forms that move fantastically
To a discordant melody ;
While, like a rapid ghastly river,
Through the pale door,
A hideous throng rush out forever,
And laugh - but smile no more.”
“Why is it, Master,” he asked bitterly, “that despite all a physician is able to do, he is as a leaf before the wind, and the real power lies only with Allah?”
“To care about words, to have a stake in what is written, to believe in the power of books - this overwhelms the rest, and beside it one's life becomes very small.”
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