She chose the brassavola, which looked like clusters of delicate calla lilies. “Ah,” said Schiele, “the Lady of the Night.” “It’s actually called that?” I asked. “Or is that your weird pet name for it?” “It releases a perfume in the evening,” he said. “Don’t worry, Franny. It smells great.
We are not quite short stories. At.
You think how much these books are like life. Except in Choose Your Own Adventure, you can move backward, and you can choose something else if you don’t like how the story turned out, or if you just want to know the other possible outcomes. You would like to do that, but you can’t. Life moves relentlessly forward.
It’s just an absence seizure. I used to have them a lot as a kid. I rarely have them as an adult except when I’m unusually stressed.” “You should see a doctor.
I like planning weddings,” I said. “I like the ceremony. And people invite you into their lives on what they believe to be the most important day. It’s a privilege.” This was my spiel.
You are willing to work hard, but you want something with flexible hours. You have a baby on the way. Also, you’re sick of bosses. You want to be your own boss, but you don’t have much money to start a business.
The problem with it is that gender exists,” she said. “Differences exist, and the law must acknowledge that or the law isn’t fair.
She loves quotation marks and peanut butter and words.
For instance, your life is a lie, and she never lies. When she heard the story of George Washington chopping down the cherry tree, she barely understood it. “Of course he told the truth. The chopping down of a cherry tree would be a very big thing to cover up,” she said.
To take care of something is to love it.
Her voice sounds like a firefly looks on a summer night.
How did you ever survive that scandal?” She said, “I refused to be shamed.” “How did you do that?” you asked. “When they came at me, I kept coming,” she said.
There is no Allison Springs, Maine, but I can attest to the reality of Boca Raton, Florida: I grew up there.
He was twelve, on the verge of being more man than boy. Every day, Sam became more of a mystery to Anna, even his smells, once so familiar, were a mystery, and there was a feeling of mourning to this. Yet, still Sam knew with certainty that his mother was the most beautiful woman in the world.
I worry for you. If you love everyone, you’ll end up having hurt feelings most of the time.
Maya, novels certainly have their charms, but the most elegant creation in the prose universe is a short story. Master the short story and you’ll have mastered the world, he thinks just before he drifts off to sleep. I should write this down, he thinks. He reaches for a pen, but there isn’t one anywhere near the toilet bowl he is resting against.
Still, she is glad for the diversion and she doesn’t want to become the kind of person who thinks that good news can only come from calls one was already expecting and callers one already knows.
We are not quite novels. The analogy he is looking for is almost there. We are not quite short stories. At this point, his life is seeming closest to that. In the end, we are collected works. He has read enough to know there are no collections where each story is perfect. Some hits. Some misses. If you’re lucky, a standout. And in the end, people only really remember the standouts anyway, and they don’t remember those for very long.
Lambiase and the first Ms. Fikry speak variations on the phrase, “A town isn’t a town without a bookstore.” Surely, they both must have read American Gods by Neil Gaiman.
Reading’s overrated. Look at all the good stuff on television. Stuff like True Blood.