One of the odd things about middle age...was the strange decisions a man discovers he’s made by not really making them.
You can't possibly judge your ability to control something until you've experienced the extremes of its capabilities. Do you understand?
He’d meant to forgive his brother, maybe even imagined he had. He’d also meant to learn to trust him, but instead merely fell into the habit of waiting for him to fuck up again.
What if all everybody needed in the world was to be sure of one friend? What if you were the one, and you refused to say those simple words?
Max would conclude, "that's who I want to be. The pope. And I'll do the same thing he does. I'll keep all the goddamn money.
Miles smiled. "Can you keep a secret?" Bea snorted. "Did I tell you what you were in for if you married my daughter?" "No," Miles conceded. "Well, then," she said, as if that settled the matter.
Interesting, Miles thought. Like himself, Father Mark, as a child, had been reassured by the imagined proximity of God, whereas adults, perhaps because they so often were up to no good, took more comfort from His remoteness.
To his surprise he...discovered that it was possible to be good at what you had little interest in, just as it had been possible to be bad at something…that you cared about a great deal.
