“We do not disappear without a trace. We leave a wake that never quite disappears, a gash in time that we so laboriously leave behind us.”
“Do you want me to kill your father, Barnum?”
“Животът не е само големи шапки и бавни валсове.Животът е умението да чакаш онези, които никога няма да се върнат.”
“Medlidenhet er bare en fornem form for forakt”
“- За никого не е лесно да се върне обратно (…) - Човек или идва прекалено рано. Или прекалено късно. - Но е по-добре, отколкото никога да не го направи.”
“Biz insanlar bu yüzden ölüyoruz. Ötekilere daha çok yer açmak için.”
“And before me the empty table at the Theater Café with my reservation - Barnum Nilsen, 8PM - the only table no one sits at. And this too is an echo, an echo of time, the shadows of a discus spinning through blinding sunlight.”
“(…) красавците, златното поколение, което никога няма да преживее война, които ще растат в такова благополучие, че накрая то ще ги преобърне и подлуди, по някое време ще обърнат гръб на всичкото изобилие и вместо това ще търсят дивата природа и престорената бедност, за да могат после да наваксат измислената загуба и да я превърнат в още по-голяма лакомия до претрупания бюфет на личния си живот.”
“She was standing still, leaning against the moonlight.”
“I didn’t speak macho alpha , therefore could not communicate telepathically, via chin lifts or through actions to other macho alphas,”
“Steven’s words slush together as he gets to his feet. “Crossing this one off the bucket list.” Then he
unbuckles his belt and grabs the waist of his pants—yanking the suckers down to his ankles—tighty
whities and all.
Every guy in the car holds up his hands to try to block the spectacle. We groan and complain. “My
eyes! They burn!”
“Put the boa constrictor back in his cage, man.”
“This is not the ass I planned on seeing tonight.”
Our protests fall on deaf ears. Steven is a man on a mission. Wordlessly, he squats and shoves his lilywhite
ass out the window—mooning the gaggle of grannies in the car next to us.
I bet you thought this kind of stuff only happened in movies.
He grins while his ass blows in the wind for a good ninety seconds, ensuring optimal viewage. Then
he pulls his slacks up, turns around, and leans out the window, laughing. “Enjoying the full moon, ladies?”
Wow. Steven usually isn’t the type to visually assault the elderly.
Without warning, his crazy cackling is cut off. He’s silent for a beat, then I hear him choke out a single
strangled word.
“Grandma?”
Then he’s diving back into the limo, his face grayish, dazed, and totally sober. He stares at the floor.
“No way that just happened.”
Matthew and I look at each other hopefully, then we scramble to the window. Sure enough, in the
driver’s seat of that big old Town Car is none other than Loretta P. Reinhart. Mom to George; Grandma to
Steven.
What are the fucking odds, huh?
....
Matthew and I wave and smile and in fourth-grader-like, singsong harmony call out, “Hi, Mrs.
Reinhart.”
She shakes one wrinkled fist in our direction. Then her poofy-haired companion in the backseat flips
us the bird. I’m pretty sure it’s the funniest goddamn thing I’ve ever seen.
The two of us collapse back into our seats, laughing hysterically.”
“A thousand sweet words can never disguise the rattle of a viper about to strike.”
“Molly, a home is not a place. It’s not a country or a town or a building or possession. Home is with the other half of your soul, the person who shares in your grief and helps you carry the burden of loss. Home is with the person who throughout it all never gives up on you and brings you eternal happiness.”
“But, no, Nathan was utterly unable to involve himself in anything not entirely of his own making. The closest Nathan could ever come to life's real confusion was in these fictions he created about it--otherwise he'd lived as he died, died as he'd lived, constructing fantasies of loved ones, fantasies of adversaries, fantasies of conflict and disorder, alone day after day in this peopleless room, continuously seeking through solitary literary contrivance to dominate what, in real life, he was too fearful to confront. Namely: the past, the present, and the future.”
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