“After spending most of her life scanning the horizon for slights and threats, genuine and imagined, she knew the real threat to her happiness came not from the dot in the distance, but from looking for it. Expecting it. Waiting for it. And in some cases, creating it. Her father had jokingly accused her of living in the wreckage of her future. Until one day she’d looked deep into his eyes and saw he wasn’t joking. He was warning her.”
“Fear lives in the head. And courage lives in the heart. The job is to get from one to the other.” “And between the two is the lump in the throat,”
“I’ll pray that you grow up a brave man in a brave country. I will pray you find a way to be useful.”
“You too?" She asked Ruth. "How do your poems start out?"
"They start as a lump in the throat," she said.”
“Turmoil shook loose all sorts of unpleasant truths. But it took peace to examine them.”
“What’s the use of healing, if the life that’s saved is callow and selfish and ruled by fear? There’s a difference between being in sanctuary and being in hiding.”
“[Being jealous] is like drinking acid, and expecting the other person to die.”
“Not everyone’s an explorer, and not every explorer makes it back alive. That’s why it takes so much courage.”
“If love was compass enough, said Armand quietly, there would be no missing children.”
“Annie laughed. She had a face, a body, made not for a Paris runway but for good meals and books by the fire and laughter. She was constructed from, and for, happiness. But it had taken Annie Gamache a long while to find it. To trust it.”
“Her voice was flat, in a way Myrna recognized from years of listening to people trying to rein in their emotions. To squash them down, flatten, them, and with them their words and their voices. Desperately trying to make the horrific sound mundane.”
“Clara didn't carry a grudge. They were too heavy and she had too far to go.”
“I’ll pray that you grow up a brave man in a brave country,” Clara said. “I will pray you find a way to be useful,” Gamache completed the quote. Reine-Marie dropped her eyes to her hands and saw the paper napkin twisted and shredded there. Clara nodded slowly. “I think you might be right. Peter went to Paris not to find a new artistic voice. It was simpler than that. He wanted to find a way to be useful.”
“Fear lives in the head. And courage lives in the heart. The job is to get from one to the other.”
“How do your poems start out?” “They start as a lump in the throat,” she said. “Isn’t that normally just a cocktail olive lodged there?” Olivier asked. “Once,” Ruth admitted. “Wrote quite a good poem before I coughed it up.”
“believe in using your head. But not in spending too much time in there. Fear lives in the head. And courage lives in the heart. The job is to get from one to the other.”
“Peter's a lucky man except in one respect, he doesn't seem to know how lucky he is.”
“Every morning he went for a walk with his wife, Reine-Marie, and their German shepherd Henri. Tossing the tennis ball ahead of them, they ended up chasing it down themselves when Henri became distracted by a fluttering leaf, or a black fly, or the voices in his head. The dog would race after the ball, then stop and stare into thin air, moving his gigantic satellite ears this way and that. Honing in on some message. Not tense, but quizzical. It was, Gamache recognized, the way most people listened when they heard on the wind the wisps of a particularly beloved piece of music. Or a familiar voice from far away.”
“Turmoil shook loose all sorts of unpleasant truths. But it took peace to examine them.”
“There is a balm in Gilead,” she read from the back, “to make the wounded whole—” “There’s power enough in Heaven / To cure a sin-sick soul.”
“Peter always had a ‘best before’ date stamped on his forehead,” said Ruth. “People who live in their heads do. They start out well enough, but eventually they run out of ideas. And if there’s no imagination, no inspiration to fall back on? Then what?”
“Armand Gamache had seen the worst. But he’d also seen the best. Often in the same person.”
“Most people want to be led. But suppose they choose the wrong leader? They end up with the Donner party.”
“In a life filled with great good fortune of health, of creativity, of friends, living in safety and privilege with the loving partner. There was just one bit of misfortune in his life and that was that Peter Morrow seemed to have no idea how very fortunate he was.”
“Dr. Vincent Gilbert lived in the heart of the forest. Away from human conflict, but also away from human contact. It was a compromise he was more than happy to make.”
“He loved Clara. I miss a lot in life,” said Gilbert. “But I have a nose for love.” “Like a truffle pig,” said Beauvoir, then regretted it when he saw the asshole saint’s reaction. Then, unexpectedly, Gilbert smiled. “Exactly. I can smell it. Love has an aroma all its own, you know.” Beauvoir looked at Gilbert, amazed by what he’d just heard. Maybe, he thought, this man was— “Smells like compost,” said Gilbert. —an asshole after all.”
“An unsuspected yearning uncovered, discovered. For a simpler time and a simpler life. Before Internet, and climate change, and terrorism. When neighbors worked together, and separation was not a topic or an issue or wise.”
“This was the great benefit of seeing worse. Fewer things worried him now.”
“A coy smile could capture him, but it was finally a hearty laugh that had freed him.”
“Sometimes the only way up is down. Sometimes the only way forward is to back up.”
“What really makes us is beyond grasping. It's way beyond knowing. We give in to love... because it gives us some sense of what is unknowable. Nothing else matters, not at the end.”
“Ah ! les expressions ne rendent jamais qu'à demi les sentiments du cœur.”
“In the arc of an unremarkable life, a life whose triumphs are small and personal, whose trials are ordinary enough, as tempered in their pain as in their resolution of pain, the claim of exclusivity in love requires both a certain kind of courage and a good dose of delusion. Irish Mary, Eva's sister, would have been happy enough to accept my father's ring, I suppose, had Eva not chosen to stay in Ireland and marry Tom. My mother's first fiancé would have married her gladly if he hadn't been kept too long overseas by the Navy, if my father hadn't beaten him home, on points, a full year before. It might have been Cody or John in the car with your father, that day on Long Island. I might have been gone. Those of us who claim exclusivity in love do so with a liar's courage: there are a hundred opportunities, thousands over the years, for a sense of falsehood to seep in, for all that we imagine as inevitable to become arbitrary, for our history together to reveal itself as only a matter of chance and happenstance, nothing irrepeatable, or irreplaceable, the circumstantial mingling of just one of the so many million with just one more.”
“Always remember that your future is determined by what you do today, not tomorrow.”
“Ella me miraba como suplicante, moviendo el rabillo muy de prisa, casi gimiendo y poniéndome unos ojos que destrozaban el corazón. A ella también se le habían ahogado las crías en el vientre. En su inocencia, ¡quién sabe si no conocería la mucha pena que su desgracia me produjera!, eran tres los perrillos que vivos no llegaron a nacer; los tres igualitos, los tres pegajosos como la almíbar, los tres grises y medio sarnosos como ratas. Abrió un hoyo entre los cantuesos y allí los metió. Cuando al salir al monte detrás de los conejos parábamos un rato por templar el aliento, ella, con ese aire doliente de las hembras sin hijos, se acercaba hasta el hoyo por olerlo.”
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