Must protect my little pockets of happiness.
Life goes on with fragile normalcy.
After sixty-one years together, she simply clutched my hand and exhaled.
But it all zipped by. One minute Marlena and I were up to our eyeballs, and the next thing we knew the kids were borrowing the car and fleeing the coop for college. And now, here I am. In my nineties and alone.
I hate this bizarre policy of protective exclusion, because it effectively writes me off the page.
Why the hell shouldn’t I run away with the circus?
Gorillas are in danger of being wiped out by the Ebola virus. I feel like we have limited time to get to know them and understand them and they’re going to disappear – that’s terrifically sad. Wouldn’t it be great if we could stop that?
You do right by me, I’ll show you a life most suckers can’t even dream of.
Don’t want to get tipsy and break a hip.
I think there is just a vein of humanity that really loves animals and really loves to read about them.
You work hard on a book and throw it out there and then it’s beyond your control.
I have to convince myself that this is not a pointless life, even the body is telling me so.
I am further back, surrounded on all sides by wailing men, their faces shiny with tears. Uncle Al promised three dollars and a bottle of Canadian whiskey to the man who puts on the best show. You’ve never seen such grief – even the dogs were howling.
I strain to hear, but my old ears, for all their obscene hugeness, pick up nothing but snippets:.
So what if I’m ninety-three? So what if I’m ancient and cranky and my body’s a wreck? If they’re willing to accept me and my guilty conscience, why the hell shouldn’t I run away with the circus?
Juliet is one of those rare novels that has it all: lush prose, tightly intertwined parallel narratives, intrigue, and historical detail all set against a backdrop of looming danger. Anne Fortier casts a new light on one of history’s greatest stories of passion. I was swept away.
I am ninety. Or ninety-three. One or the other.
I just think I’m better equipped to make a study of human personality than trying to get into the mind of animals.
I was always searching, always seeking the next big thing, because that was the thing that was going to make everything all right again. And while I was working toward it, it gave me something to think about other than that thing I couldn’t put my finger on. But it always came back.
When I first submerged my feet into frigid water, they hurt so badly I yanked them out again. I persisted, dunking them for longer and longer periods, until the cold finally blistered.