There were moments bristling with deadness, when she looked out at her life and went, Or worse, feeling interrupted and tired, Wha—?
They had, finally, the only thing anyone really wants in life: someone to hold your hand when you die.
They looked like frogs who’d been kissed and kissed roughly, yet stayed frogs.
They were in performance. They were performing their marriage at me.
We are lucky simply to be alive together; why get differentiating and judgemental about who is here among us? Thank God there is anyone at all.
Things, I know, stiffen and shift in memory, become what they never were before. As when an army takes over a country. Or a summer yard goes scarlet with fall and its venous leaves. One summons the ye...
Things, however, rarely happened the way you understood them. Mostly they just sort of drove up alongside what you thought was the case and then moved randomly down some other way.
This ceremony of approval was a charade - everything had been decided before we got here - and as with all charades it was wanly ebullient, necessary, and thin.
This is Quilty's audition ritual: whenever he feels it is time for it, he calls upon himself to audition for love. He has no script, no reliable sense of stage, just a faceful of his heart's own greas...
This is a political New Year's Eve, says Albert. We're here to protest the new year, protest the old; generally get a petition going to Father Time.
This is what happened in love. One of you cried a lot and then both of you grew sarcastic.
This is what happened in love. One of you cried a lot and then both of you grow sarcastic.
This is why a woman makes things up: Because when she dies, those lives she never got to are all going down with her. All those possibilities will just site there like a bunch of school kids with thei...
This lunge at moral fastidiousness was something she'd noticed a lot in people around here. They were not good people. They were not kind. But they recycled their newspapers!
This lunge at moral fastidiousness was something she’d noticed a lot in the people around here. They were not good people. They were not kind. They played around and lied to their spouses. But they re...
This was supposed to be the Presidential Suite, she said, gazing into the room at the holes in the wall.well, even presidents get shot, I said.
Though she would have preferred long ago to have died, fled, gotten it all over with, the body--Jesus, how the body!--took its time. It possessed its own wishes and nostalgias. You could not just turn...
Through all the muck of themselves, the times they had unobligated each other, the anger, the permitted absences, the loneliness grown dangerous, she had always returned to him. He'd had faith in that...
Through college she had been a feminist—basically: she shaved her legs, but just not often enough, she liked to say.
To the right, the clouds have more shape and against the blue look like the figures of a Wedgwood dish. What a fine fucking bowl beneath which they have all been caught and asked to swim out their day...
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