“Children are knives, my mother once said. They don’t mean to, but they cut. And yet we cling to them, don’t we, we clasp them until the blood flows.”
“Everything comes home, my mother used to say; every word spoken, every shadow cast, every footprint in the sand. It can't be helped; it's part of what makes us who we are. ”
“If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.”
“A man who casts no shadow isn't really a man at all.”
“The real magic - the magic we'd lived with all our lives, my mother's magic of charms and cantrips, of salt by the door and a red silk sachet to placate the little gods - had turned sour on us that summer, somehow, like a spider that turns from good luck to bad at the stroke of midnight, spinning its web to catch our dreams. And for every little spell of charm, for every card dealt and every rune cast and every sign scratched against a doorway to divert the path of malchance, the wind just blew a little harder, tugging at our clothes, sniffing at us like a hungry dog, moving us here and moving us there.”
“We came in the wind of the carnival. A wind of change, or promises. The merry wind, the magical wind, making March hares of everyone, tumbling blossoms and coat-tails and hats; rushing towards summer in a frenzy of exuberance.”
“Like a domestic cat, purring on the sofa by day, but by night, a strutting queen, a natural killer, disdainful of her other life.”
“That wind. I see it's blowing now. Furtive but commanding, it has dictated every move we've ever made. My mother felt it, and so do I - even here, even now - as it sweeps us like leaves into his backseat corner, dancing us to shreds against the stones. V'la l'bon vent, v'a l'joli vent. I though we'd silenced it for good. But the smallest thing can wake the wind@ a word, a sign, even a death. There's no such thing as a trivial thing. Everything costs; it all adds up until finally the balance shifts and we're gone again, back on the road, telling ourselves - well maybe next time”
“Clones fit in. Freaks stand out. Ask me which one I prefer.”
“Wild birds will kill exotic ones: the budgies and the lovebirds and the yellow canaries-- escaped from their cages and hoping to get a taste of the sky -- usually end up back on the ground, plucked raw by their more conformist cousins”
“To be a mother is to live in fear. Fear of death, of sickness, of loss, of accidents, of strangers, of the Black Man, or simply those small everyday things that somehow manage to hurt us most: the look of impatience, the angry word, the missed bedtime story, the forgotten kiss, the terrible moment when a mother ceases to be the center of her daughter’s world and becomes”
“If wishes were horses, beggers would ride”
“Вечността е ужасно дълга, а тук, в задънената улица на годината, Смъртта изведнъж става съвсем осезаема.
Нали тъкмо и затова е и този празник на зимните светлини? Той е жалко опълчване срещу лицето на мрака. Наречето го Коледа, ако искате, но и вие и аз знаем, че става въпрос за нещо много по-древно. И зад всичките гирлянди и коледни песни, и благи вести, и подаръци се крие една по-сурова и по-дълбока истина.
Това е време на скръб и загуба, на жертвоприношения, на страх, тъма, пустота, смърт. Ацтеките са знаели, както и маите, че боговете им са копнеели не да спасят света, а да го унищожат, и единствено кръвта на жертвоприношението би могла да ги умилостиви.”
“At the window he sits and looks out, musing on the river, a little brown hen duck paddling upstream among the windwaves close to the far bank. What he has understood lies behind him like a road in the woods. He is a wilderness looking out at the wild.”
“We might have known from the first that human curiosity is undying, and that the results we announced would be enough to spear others ahead on the same age-long pursuit of the unknown.”
“Yarışı kazanmak ayak sayısıyla ilgili olsa, kırkayak, köpekleri kolaylıkla yenerdi.”
“Just keep in mind that sometimes when you tell yourself things are fine, you're really just driving the tough stuff even deeper.”
“Ingvar was on his back, moaning quietly. The pillow under his head, his jacket and the blanket across him, and the mattress under him were all totally sodden as perspiration poured out of his body in a flood. Jesper looked at them wildly. “He’s going to die, isn’t he?” It was Edvin who slapped him on the back, almost sending him sprawling across the sweat-soaked figure on the mattress. “No, you idiot!” he said happily. “He’s going to live. The fever’s broken!”
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