even when I leaned in as far as I dared without being obvious,
And if what they say is true–if every great painting is really a self-portrait–what, if anything, is Fabritius saying about himself?
Are you happy here?” I said at last.
He considered this for a moment. “Not particularly,” he said. “But you’re not very happy where you are, either.
good doesn’t always follow from good deeds, nor bad deeds result from bad, does it? Even the wise and good cannot see the end of all actions.
Todo es injusto! A quién nos quejamos en este lugar de mierda? Quién está a cargo aquí?
As tiny as she was, the resemblance sounded: her coloring, her eyes, her head cocked at the same angle and hair as red as his.
That was a cozy night, a happy night; lamps lit, sparkle of glasses, rain falling heavy on the roof. Outside, the treetops tumbled and tossed, with a foamy whoosh like club soda bubbling up in the glass. The windows were open and a damp cool breeze swirled through the curtains, bewitchingly wild and sweet.
still when I lost her I lost sight of any landmark that might have led me someplace happier, to some more populated or congenial life.
… we don’t get to choose our own hearts. We can’t make ourselves want what’s good for us or what’s good for other people. We don’t get to choose the people we are.
But then, six months ago, my dad hauled me with him to this shaddy town in Alaska. Seward Peninsula, just below Arctic Circle? And then, middle of May-we flew to Fairbanks on a prop plane, and then we came here.