The Summer Wives

There's something about the smells of your childhood, isn't there? ... You still remember those small sublime joys with an ache of longing because there's no getting it back, is there? You cannot return to a state of innocence.

you never do suspect what inconsequential event will change the course of your life.

They say human beings are creatures of habit, that we are wont to follow the scripts already written in our heads, the stories we have learned to believe, over and over again in the same implacable, brutal cycle, however much we long to write our own, original verses.

Nobody ever says what they really mean. There is this vast fabric of tender little lies, and all the important things are unspoken. Boiling there underneath. We only bother telling the truth when it’s too small to count.

knew I was in love with him. Just imagine. As innocent, as uncomplicated as that. I still remember that moment, that sweet, shy revelation, remember it fondly, because it only comes once in your life, and then it’s gone. You can’t have it back. And it’s only a second! Isn’t that capricious? One measly instant of clarity, tucked inside the reach of your livelong days.

...I knew I was in love with him. Just imagine. As innocent, as uncomplicated as that. I still remember that moment, that sweet, shy revelation, remember fondly, because it only comes once in your life, and then it's gone. You can't have it back. And it's only a second! Isn't that capricious? One measly instant of clarity, tucked inside the reach of your lifelong days. And then the boat touches the shore, and the moment flies, and your life--your real, murky, messy, incalculable life--your life resumes.

You must find whatever ugliness there exists within him and have the courage to extract it, like a bad tooth, or if it cannot be extracted to actually journey inside him and gather the ugliness in your arms for metamorphosis, by the strength and the purity of your love to make him beautiful again.

There’s something about the smells of your childhood, isn’t there? Even when that childhood was short and flavored by bitterness

Because nothing hurts more than that, nothing ever hurts you more than the people you love.

you still remember those small, sublime joys with an ache of longing. Because there’s no getting it back, is there? You can’t return to a state of innocence.

I feel silly. You can pull it off, but I can't." Isobel pulled back, took my shoulders, and angled me back and forth for examination. A smile grew on her mouth. "You're wrong, my precious. You can pull off anything if you just stop trying.

The game’s afoot. Follow your spirit, and upon this charge Cry “God for Harry, England, and Saint George!

I mean, you never do suspect what inconsequential event will change the course of your life.

When you have money and prestige—especially prestige—you think you deserve it, somehow, and everybody else is just—ordinary. Nobody else matters.

In despair, our heroine swallows poison, and reaches for some older, sturdier fellow to heal her, only to discover that she cannot absorb sturdiness through her skin, she cannot replace one person with another. She cannot actually make love by making love.

so black and velvet that sleep comes as easy as that, as closing your eyes. You fall and fall, like an anchor that finds no bottom, and

Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more, Or close the wall up with our English dead! In peace there’s nothing so becomes a man As modest stillness and humility, But when the blast of war blows in our ears, Then imitate the actions of the tiger: Stiffen the sinews, conjure up the blood, Disguise fair nature with hard-favored rage.

You mustn't ever try to save me, all right?I like to sail close to the wind, as close as I can,but I won't capsize

It's better that way, don't you think? You're prepared to like anything when you're comfortable sauced.