“Don't you think it's better to be extremely happy for a short while, even if you lose it, than to be just okay for your whole life?”
“Love the world and yourself in it, move through it as though it offers no resistance, as though the world is your natural element.”
“I won't ever leave you, even though you're always leaving me.”
“It's hard being left behind. (...) It's hard to be the one who stays.”
“It’s dark now and I am very tired. I love you, always. Time is nothing.”
“Why is love intensified by absence?”
“Time is priceless, but it’s Free. You can't own it, you can use it. You can spend it. But you can't keep it. Once you've lost it you can never get it back.”
“We laugh and laugh, and nothing can ever be sad, no one can be lost, or dead, or far away: right now we are here, and nothing can mar our perfection, or steal the joy of this perfect moment.”
“Sleep is my lover now, my forgetting, my opiate, my oblivion.”
“Maybe I'm dreaming you. Maybe you're dreaming me; maybe we only exist in each other's dreams and every morning when we wake up we forget all about each other.”
“I never understood why Clark Kent was so hell bent on keeping Lois Lane in the dark.”
“I go to sleep alone, and wake up alone. I take walks. I work until I'm tired. I watch the wind play with the trash that's been under the snow all winter. Everything seems simple until you think about it. Why is love intensified by abscence?”
“I'm sorry. I didn't know you were coming or I'd have cleaned up a little more. My life, I mean, not just the apartment.”
“Long ago, men went to sea, and women waited for them, standing on the edge of the water, scanning the horizon for the tiny ship. Now I wait for Henry. He vanishes unwillingly, without warning. I wait for him. Each moment that I wait feels like a year, an eternity. Each moment is as slow and transparent as glass. Through each moment I can see infinite moments lined up, waiting. Why has he gone where I cannot follow?”
“I wanted someone to love who would stay: stay and be there, always.”
“Think for a minute, darling: in fairy tales it's always the children who have the fine adventures. The mothers have to stay at home and wait for the children to fly in the window.”
“I wish for a moment that time would lift me out of this day, and into some more benign one. But then I feel guilty for wanting to avoid the sadness; dead people need us to remember them, even if it eats us, even if all we can do is say "I'm sorry" until it is as meaningless air.”
“I am suddenly comsumed by nostalgia for the little girl who was me, who loved the fields and believed in God, who spent winter days home sick from school reading Nancy Drew and sucking menthol cough drops, who could keep a secret.”
“Chaos is more freedom; in fact, total freedom. But no meaning. I want to be free to act, and I also want my actions to mean something.”
“But you make me happy. It's living up to being happy that's the difficult part.”
“I'm living under water. Everything seems slow and far away. I know there's a world up there, a sunlit quick world where time runs like dry sand through an hourglass, but down here, where I am, air and sound and time and feeling are thick and dense.”
“Right now we are here, and nothing can mar our perfection, or steal the joy of this perfect moment.”
“Do you ever miss him?
Every day. Every minute.
Every minute, she says.
Yes, it's that way, isn't it?”
“I place my hands over her ears and tip her head back, and kiss her, and try to put my heart into hers, for safekeeping, in case I lose it again.”
“I hate to be where she is not, when she is not. And yet, I am always going. - Henry deTamble”
“I love. I have loved. I will love.”
“The compelling thing about making art - or making anything, I suppose - is the moment when the vaporous, insubstantial idea becomes a solid there, a thing, a substance in a world of substances.”
“Sometimes I'm happy when he's gone, but I'm always happy when he returns. -Clare”
“that's what I love you for: your inability to perceive all my hideous flaws”
“When the woman you live with is an artist, every day is a surprise.”
“Is this what normal is?" Jay asks as we continue to watch the show.
"All of it. Having a shitty day and coming home to someone who takes care of you. Making love to that person. Sharing your day. Realizing everyday can suck if it means your evenings end up like this."
"I don't know" I answer truthfully. "My parents either avoided each other or argued."
Jay doesn't respond, just cuddles more of me under him.
"I hope this is our normal." He quietly confides after a few more minutes.”
“Hope makes a good breakfast. Eat plenty of it.”
“She felt like a baton getting passed along in a relay race, completely devoid of any control over her destiny.”
“We all know the elementary form of politeness, that of the empty symbolic gesture, a gesture-an offer-which is meant to be rejected. In John Irving's A Prayer for
Owen Meany, after the little boy Owen accidentally kills John's-his best friend's, the narrator's-mother, he is, of course, terribly upset, so, to show how sorry he is, he discreetly delivers to John a gift of the complete collection of color photos of baseball stars, his most precious possession; however, Dan, John's delicate stepfather, tells him that the proper thing to do is to return the gift. What we have here is symbolic exchange at its purest: a gesture made to be rejected; the point, the "magic" of symbolic exchange, is that, although at the end we are where we were at the beginning, the overall result of the operation is not zero but a distinct gain for both parties, the pact of solidarity. And is not something similar part of our everyday mores? When, after being engaged in a fierce competition for a job promotion with my closest friend, I win, the proper thing to do is to offer to withdraw, so that he will get the promotion, and the proper thing for him to do is to reject my offer-in this way, perhaps, our friendship can be saved....
Milly's offer is the very opposite of such an elementary gesture of politeness: although it also is an offer that is meant to be rejected, what makes hers different from the symbolic empty offer is the cruel alternative it imposes on its addressee: I offer you wealth as the supreme proof of my saintly kindness, but if you accept my offer, you will be marked by an indelible stain of guilt and moral corruption; if you do the right thing and reject it, however, you will also not be simply righteous-your very rejection will function as a retroactive admission of your guilt, so whatever Kate and Densher do, the very choice Milly's bequest confronts them with makes them guilty.”
“The third board popped off. The opening was now big enough to squeeze through. The dogs in town were barking hysterically.”
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