All he had to do to make me like him was need me. All he had to do to make Arty like him was drop dead.
In the end I would always pull up with a sense of glory, that loving is the strong side. It's feeble to be an object. What's the point of being loved in return, I'd ask myself.
Оракула создаёт тот, кто задаёт вопрос и думает, будто слышит ответ.Пока я резала мясо на тарелке Арти, мою грудь распирала тоска, грозившая пролиться слезами из глаз и соплями из носа. Как я теперь п...
How deep and sticky is the darkness of childhood, how rigid the blades of infant evil, which is unadulterated, unrestrained by the convenient cushions of age and its civilizing anesthesia.
There are those whose own vulgar normality is so apparent and stultifying that they strive to escape it. They affect flamboyant behavior and claim originality according to the fashionable eccentriciti...
You just want to know that you’re all right. You just want to feel all right. And now he dives into the sneer. Arty’s sneer could flay a rhino. That’s all you need other people’s love for!
They thought to use and shame me but I win out by nature, because a true freak cannot be made. A true freak must be born.
It is, I suppose, the common grief of children at having to protect their parents from reality. It is bitter for the young to see what awful innocence adults grow into, that terrible vulnerability tha...
There are parts of Texas where a fly lives ten thousand years and a man can't die soon enough. Time gets strange there from too much sky, too many miles from crack to crease in the flat surface of the...
Sometimes when I felt the eyes crawling on me from all sides, I got scared thinking someone was looking who wasn’t just curious. I knew it was my imagination and I got used to it, learned to shunt it...
Hey, nit squat! These are written by norms to scare norms. And do you know what the monsters and demons and rancid spirits are? Us, that’s what. You and me. We are the things that come to the norms in...
You must have wished a million times to be normal.No.No?I’ve wished I had two heads. Or that I was invisible. I’ve wished for a fish’s tail instead of legs. I’ve wished to be more special.Not normal?N...
He had Oly letter a little card that he taped on his wall. The thing read, ‘The only liars bigger than the quack are the quack’s patients.’ Arty used to just keep me in stitches. Eleven years old he w...
They thought to use and shame me but I win out by nature, because a true freak cannot be made. A true freak must be born. There
Just being visible is my biggest confession, so they try to set me at ease by revealing our equality, by dragging out their own less-apparent deformities.
What's bred in the bones, when you have bones, comes through. And they looked at her, watched her, wanted to squirt her full of baby juice.
It's interesting that when these individuals choose-and it is their choice always-to endure voluntary amputations for their own personal benefit, society professes itself shocked and disapproving. Yet...
My heart died. Arty would despise her. But Mama told me to go on hoping. Go ahead and love her, Mama said. I've wondered since whether those were Mama's last words, the final sizzle of her synapses.
What greater gift could you offer your children than an inherent ability to earn a living just by being themselves?
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