Bokelskere.no

Anne felt guilty at first that she reacted so badly to Vijay's appearance. His oyster-coloured complexion and the thick jowls that looked like a permanent attack of mumps were the unhappy setting for a large hooked nose with tufts of intractable hair about the nostrils. His glasses were thick and square but, without them, the raw dents on the bridge of his nose and the weak eyes peering out from the darker grey of their sockets looked worse. His hair was blow-dried until it rose and stiffened like a black meringue on top of his skull.

His face was astonishingly handsome. Its faultlessness was its only flaw; it was the blueprint of a face and had an uninhabited feeling to it, as if no trace of how its owner had lived could modify the perfection of the lines.

He wore his dark glasses to protect him from surprises.

Whenever she thought of what she was meant to say, it seemed to dash around the corner, and lose itself in the crowd of things she could not say.

People never remember happiness with the care that they lavish on preserving every detail of their suffering.

She felt a combination of boredom and rebelliousness which reminded her of adolescence.

How can you separate who we are from who we think we are?

The compulsion to repeat what one has experienced is like gravity, and it takes special equipment to break away from it.

...how nearly inevitable it is for those who have been terrified to become terrifying once they have the opportunity.

No pain is to small if it hurts, but any pain is too small if it's cherished.