Like sunlight, sunset, we appear, we disappear. We are so important to some, but we are just passing through.
I’m okay with you being a complicated human being. I don’t want to live a boring life, where two people own each other, where two people are institutionalized in a box that others created, because that is a bunch of stifling bullshit.
It’s as though you have a certain music in your head, and trying to get that music out on the page is absolute hell.
Her heart sank into her shoes as she realized at last how much she wanted him. No matter what his past was, no matter what he had done. Which was not to say that she would ever let him know, but only that he moved her chemically more than anyone she had ever met, that all other men seemed pale beside him.
"The three dots shown while someone is drafting a message in iMessage is quite possibly the most important source of eternal hope and ultimate letdown in our daily lives. It’s the modern-day version of watching paint dry, except you might be broken up with by the time the dots deliver."
"The Agony of the Text Message Bubble" - NY Times
There is romance in food when romance has disappeared from everywhere else.
"What history generally ‘teaches’ is who hard it is for anyone to control it, including the people who think they’re making it."
"We are far more likely to be made by history than to make it."
"The most tempting lesson that history gives is not to tempt it."
Generally a woman’s vulnerability increased as time went on, as things progressed. All you could tell at the start was that if there was an edge of it then, there’d be more later
The thing is - nature is so exact, it hurts exactly as much as it is worth, so in a way one relishes the pain, I think. If it didn’t matter, it wouldn’t matter.
Early in life, the world divides crudely into those who have had sex and those who haven’t. Later, into those who have known love, and those who haven’t. Later still - at least, if we are lucky (or, on the other hand, unlucky) - it divides into those who have endured grief, and those who haven’t. These divisions are absolute; they are tropics we cross.