Dead flowers stood rotting in the massive Chinese vases and a shut-up heaviness overweighed the room: the air almost too stale to breathe, the exact, suffocating feel of our apartment when Mrs. Barbou...
De algún modo el presente se había contraído convirtiéndose en un lugar más pequeño y mucho menos interesante. Tal vez era eso lo que ocurría cuando la gente se hacía mayor.
DAVE THE SHRINK HAD mentioned more than once that he wished I would develop a hobby—advice I resented, as the hobbies he suggested (racquetball, table tennis, bowling) all seemed incredibly lame. If h...
Cubitum eamus?What?Nothing.
Cuanto más agitas los árboles más hojas caen de ellos.
Clearly ‘worry’ was the mark of a primitive and spiritually unevolved person.
Clearly something had gone wrong, badly, only I wasn’t quite sure what—apart from knowing that I was responsible somehow, in the generalized miasma of shame and unworthiness and being-a-burden that ne...
Caring too much for objects can destroy you. Only–if you care for a thing enough, it takes on a life of its own, doesn’t it? And isn’t the whole point of things–beautiful things–that they connect you...
Cada acontecimiento nuevo —todo lo que hiciera en adelante— no haría más que separarnos; serían días de los que ella ya no formaría parte, por lo que la distancia entre nosotros sería cada vez mayor....
But though it was the most resonant and real-seeming thing that had happened in a long time, I didn't want to spoil it by talking about it...
But those sparkling blue shallows- so enticing at first glance- had not yet graded off into depths, so that sometimes I got the disconcerting sensation of wading around in knee-high waters hoping to s...
But poor Andy—even before he was skipped ahead a grade—had always been a chronically picked-upon kid: scrawny, twitchy, lactose-intolerant, with skin so pale it was almost transparent, and a penchant...
But he knew absolutely everything—work that other people didn't know how to do or care to learn anymore—it hangs by a thread, this trade, generation to generation.
But depression wasn't the word. This was a plunge encompassing sorrow and revulsion far beyond the personal: a sick, drenching nausea at all humanity and human endeavor from the dawn of time. The writ...
But Robin: their dear little Robs. More than ten years later, his death remained an agony; there was no glossing any detail; its horror was not subject to repair or permutation by any of the narrative...
But I think maybe it’s more like a column of figures where you add two numbers wrong at the start, and it throws the total. If you trace it back, you can see the mistake – the point where you would ha...
Bunny put away his copy of The Bride of Fu Manchu and started carrying around a volume of Homer instead.
Because—all the way driving here, driving all night, Christmas lights on the motorway and I’m not ashamed to tell you, I got choked up—because I was thinking, couldn’t help it, about the Bible story—?...
Beauty is terror. Whatever we call beautiful, we quiver before it. (...) We want to be devoured by it, to hide ourselves in that fire which refines us.
At this question, I felt a sharp rush of despair - for as bad as I felt there was nothing he could do for me, and from his face, I realized he knew that, too.