The apartment is a laboratory in which we conduct experiments, perform research on each other. We discover Henry hates it when I absentmindedly click my spoon against my teeth while reading the paper...
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.
The compelling thing about making art—or making anything, I suppose—is the moment when the vaporous, insubstantial idea becomes a solid , a thing, a substance in a world of substances. Circe, Nimbue,...
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. Circe, Nim...
The cure might be worse than the problem
The engagement ring is an emerald, and the dim light from the window is refracted green and white in it. The rings are silver, and they need cleaning. They need wearing, and I know just the girl to we...
The hardest lesson is Clare’s solitude. Sometimes I come home and Clare seems kind of irritated; I’ve interrupted some train of thought, broken into the dreary silence of her day. Sometimes I see an e...
The heart asks pleasure first; and then excuse from pain.
We're squirrels in human form, she whispered. And so are you.
The house envelops us, watches us, contemplates us as we make love in it for the first time, the first time of many times, and afterward, as we lie spent on the bare floor surrounded by boxes, I feel...
And to see years all present in your face.
The only thing we can do is to say ‘Fuck it’ over and over again, really loud, until someone stops us.
The pain has receded but what’s left is the shell of pain, an empty space where there should be pain but instead there is the expectation of pain.
«Io vorrei Dio. Si può?»Mi sento come un cretino. «Certo che si può. È quello che credi tu.»«Però io non voglio soltanto crederci. Voglio che sia vero.»
Now it becomes clear that he's one of those people who is fastidious about his personal appearance but secretly skivenly about everything else
Time is nothing.
You can still be cool when you’re dead. In fact, it’s much easier, because you aren’t getting old and fat and losing your hair.
There was only the cemetery itself, spread out in the moonlight like a soft grey hallucination, a stony wilderness of Victorian melancholy.
There's always world enough and time.
There's something about the way she says it that makes me feel strange... It dawns on me that I am jealous. Jesus. I can't believe I'm feeling jealous of a multimillionaire rock star geezer old enough...
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