The counselor also suggested meditation. Finding a bit of time each day to focus on deep breathing and the acceptance of life as it was presently occurring. That was not a productive solution either. Frankie did not accept life as it was presently occurring. It was a fundamental element of her character. Life as it was presently occurring was not acceptable to her. Were she to mellow out – would she not become obedient? Would she not stay on the path that stretched ahead of her, nicely bricked?
Please, that is so antiquated. The institutions of male supremacy only have real power over you if you buy into that notion. Go found your own club and tell them they can’t join. Or better yet, drop the idea of clubs altogether because they’re exclusionary, and embrace some other, more flexible way of connecting with people.
You think it’s normal to get what you want all the time,” said Jule. “For things to be easy. But it isn’t. Most people don’t get what they want, like, ever. They have doors shut in their faces. They have to strive, all the time. They don’t live in your magical land of two-seater cars and perfect teeth and traveling to Italy and fur coats.
I had lost my dad. I had come here to this island from a house of tears and falsehood and I saw Gat, and I saw that rose in his hand, and in that one moment, with the sunlight from the window shining in on him, the apples on the kitchen counter, the smell of wood and ocean in the air, I did call it love.
Johnny, he is bounce, effort, and snark. Mirren, she is sugar, curiousity, and rain. Gat was contemplation and enthusiam. Ambition and strong coffee. My liars.
It is true I suffer migraines since my accident. It is true I do not suffer fools.
It is better to be alone, she figures, than to be with someone who can’t see who you are.
I loved the hole in his jeans and the dirt on his bare feet and the scab on his elbow and the scar that laced through one eyebrow.
Be a little kinder than you have to, Cady, and things will be all right.
For the old people in my family – Mummy, the aunties, Granddad – the accumulation of beautiful objects is a life goal. Whoever dies with the most stuff wins. Wins what? is what I’d like to know. I used to be a person who liked pretty things. Like Mummy does, like all the Sinclairs do. But that’s not me anymore.
It’s just a house. Lots of houses seem scary at night, but in the morning, they are friendly again.
I already have a toothbrush. I don’t know why she would buy me another. That woman buys things just to buy things. It’s disgusting.
People with money love Gershwin.
Now I have you, which makes me significantly less mental.” “Less mental is good.
They were paragons of self-sacrificing womanhood. Like, ‘I’m starving to death! Here, eat my only bakery bun!’ ‘I can’t walk, I’m paralyzed, but still I see the bright side of life, happy happy!’ A Little Princess and Pollyanna, let me tell you, they are selling you a pack of ugly lies.
She giggled in a goofy way when she was amused or embarrassed. She felt awkward around popular people, and couldn’t figure out whether she was good-looking or freakishly ugly, because she often felt both within the space of an hour.
It tasted like salt and failure. The bright red shame of being unloved soaked the grass in front of our house, the bricks of the path, the steps to the porch.
It really bothers me how in books it seems like the only two choices are perfection or self-hatred.
They built three new houses on their craggy private island and gave them each a name: Windemere for Penny, Red Gate for Carrie, and Cuddledown for Bess.
It had been, she felt, a dumb event preceded by excellent invitations.