Books were my friends, said Catherine, and cooled her cheek, which was red from the heat of cooking, on her wineglass. I think I learned all my feelings from books. In them I loved and laughed and fou...
Loving or not loving should be like coffee or tea; people should be allowed to decide. How else are we to get over all our dead and the women we've lost? Cunco whispered dejectedly.Maybe we shouldn't....
Occasionally she would flounder in the fog of the blues; what she had seen in the shadows of the night would make her irritable or ashamed or irksome or gloomy for hours on end. This was her daily str...
On the postcard Perdu wrote Catherine that night were the phrases Max had invented that afternoon so he could present them to Samy at dinner.Samy found them so beautiful that she kept repeating them t...
The bookseller read Catherine like a novel. She let him leaf through her and look through her story.
Then came the night when she held him close as a second great wave of anger smashed over him. This time it was anger at himself. He showered insults on himself, crudely and desperately, with the wrath...
Because of your love I’m learning to love myself too, she said one morning when the sea was still a sleepy shade of gray-blue. I have always taken what life has offered me…but I’ve never offered mysel...