Beauty is a whore, I like money better.
You grow weary of being treated as the enemy simply because you are not young anymore; because you dress unexceptionally.
There is a beauty in the world, though it's harsher than we expect it to be.
You want to give him the book of his own life, the book that will locate him, parent him, arm him for the changes.
She pauses several treads from the bottom, listening, waiting; she is again possessed (it seems to be getting worse) by a dream-like feeling, as if she is standing in the wings, about to go onstage and perform in a play for which she is not appropria...
We throw our parties; we abandon our families to live alone in Canada; we struggle to write books that do not change the world, despite our gifts and our unstinting efforts, our most extravagant hopes. We live our lives, do whatever we do, and then w...
Dead, we are revealed in our true dimensions, and they are surprisingly modest.
We live our lives, do whatever we do, and then we sleep. It's as simple and ordinary as that. A few jump out windows, or drown themselves, or take pills; more die by accident; and most of us are slowly devoured by some disease, or, if we're very fort...
He says, 'I don't know if I can face this. You know. The party and the ceremony, and then the hour after that, and the hour after that.' 'You don't have to go to the party. You don't have to go to the ceremony. You don't have to do anything at all.' ...
Laura po Kitty touží. Po její síle, po tom, jak věcně, pohodově přijímá všechna svá zklamání, po mihotavých růžovozlatých světlech její utajené osobnosti, po křehkých našamponovaných hlubinách jejích vlasů.
She has failed. She wishes she didn't mind. Something, she thinks, is wrong with her.
What she wants to say has to do not only with joy but with the penetrating, constant fear that is joy's other half.
Here is the world, and you live in it, and are grateful. You try to be grateful.
I don't think two people could have been happier than we have been.
There are times when you don't belong and you think you're going to kill yourself. Once I went to a hotel. Later that night I made a plan. The plan was I would leave my family when my second child was born. And that's what I did. I got up one morning...
Here, then, is the last moment of true perception, a man fishing in a red jacket and a cloudy sky reflected on opaque water.
This love of theirs, with its reassuring domesticity and its easy silences, its permanence, has yoked Sally directly to the machinery of mortality itself. Now there is a loss beyond imagining.
Love is deep, a mystery - who wants to understand its every particular?
