Bokelskere.no

Kan hun tegne? spurte Sophia dystert.
Nei, svarte farmoren, antagelig ikke. Hun hører nok til dem som lager én eneste god ting og siden aldri mer.

Håret hennes tåler ikke saltvann, forklarte Sophia trist. Det ser fælt ut. Og det var håret jeg likte.

Because you simply cannot draw these things out for ever. At some point, you just pull off the Band-Aid and it hurts, but then it’s over and you’re relieved.

It was kind of a beautiful day, finally real summer in Indianapolis, warm and humid - the kind of weather that reminds you after a long winter that while the world wasn't built for humans, we were built for the world.

Isaac started talking about true love. I couldn't tell them what I was thinking because it seemed cheesy to me, but I was thinking about the universe wanting to be noticed, and how I had to notice it as best I could. I felt that I owed a debt to the universe that only my attention could repay, and also that I owed a debt to everyone who didn to be a person anymore and everyone who hadn't gotten to be a person yet.

"But I believe in true love, you know? I don't believe that everybody gets to keep their eyes or not get sick or whatever, but everybody should have true love, and it should last at least as long as your life does."

Just before the Miracle, when I was in the ICU and it looket like I was going to die and Mom was telling me it was okay to let go, and I was trying to let go but my lungs kept searching for air, Mom sobbed something into dad's chest that I wish i hadn't heard, and that I hope she never finds out that I did hear. She shaid, "I won't be a mom anymore." It gutted me pretty badly.
I couldn't stop thinking about that during the whole Cancer Team Meeting. I couldn't get it out of my head, how she sounded when she said that, like she would never be okay again, which probably she wouldn't.

My favorite book, by a wide margin, was An Imperial Affliction, but I didn't like to tell people about it. Sometimes, you read a book and it fills you with this weird evangelical zeal, and you become convinced that the shattered world will never be put back together unless and until all living humans read the book. And then there are books like An Imperial Affliction, which you can't tell people about, books so special and rare are yours that advertising your affection feels like a betrayal.

"How are you feeling?" she whispers.
"Not good."
She nods. Sarah know what this means. It means she'll see me on the couch tonight, tossing and turning and sweating as Mom brings me warm milk. It means she'll see me watching TV, but not really watching, just staring and not laughing, as I don't do my homework. It means she'll see me sinking and failing. She reacts well to this. She does more schoolwork and has more fun. She doesn't want to end up like me. At least I'm giving someone an example not to follow.

"I can't eat any more either," I say. I've managed five bites. My stomach is churning and closing fast. It's all such inoffensive food; I shouldn't have any problems with it. I should be able to eat three plates of it. I'm a growing boy; I shouldn't have trouble sleeping; I should be playing sports! I should be making out with girls. I should be finding what I love about this world. I should be frickin' eating and sleeping and drinking and studying and watching TV and being normal.

'Poor slob,' she said, tickling his head, 'poor slob without a name. It's a little inconvenient, his not having a name. But I haven't any right to give him one: he'll have to wait until he belongs to somebody. We just sort of took up by the river one day, we don't belong to each other: he's independent, and so am I. I don't want to own anything until I know I've found the place where me and things belong together. I'm not quite sure where that is just yet. But I know what it's like.' She smiled, and let the cat drop to the floor. 'It's like Tiffany's,' she said.

(..) but what is the worst pain? To me, it’s always the pain that is present.

But now, since J. had assigned him this task, he felt that his angel was much more present - as if the angels made themselves available only to those who believed in their existence. He knew, though, that whether one believed in them or not, they were always there - messengers of life, of death, of hell, and of paradise.

"Even though I don't want to know 'how' or 'where,' you taught me that there is a question we should always ask as we undertake something. I'm asking you that question now: Why? Why must I do this?"
"Because people always kill the things they love," J. replied.

I wrote huge number of letters that spring: one a week to Naoko, several to Reiko, and several more to Midori. I wrote letters in the lecture hall, I wrote letters at my desk at home with Seagull on my lap, I wrote letters at empty tables during my breaks at the Italian restaurant. It was as If I were writing letters to hold together the pieces of my crumbling life.

I would try clamping my eyes shut and gritting my teeth, and wait for it to pass. And it would pass - but slowly, taking its own time, and leaving a dull ache in its path.

I told her I missed her, that I had been hoping, one way or another, to be able to meet her and talk. In any case, I wrote, I've decided to make myself strong. As far as I can tell, that's all I can do.

Holly smiled weakly. Gerry would know exactly how she was feeling, he would know exactly what to say and exactly what to do. He would give her one of his famous hugs and all her problems would melt away. She grabbed a pillow from her bed and hugged it tight. She couldn't remember the last time she had hugged someone, really hugged someone. And the depressing thing was that she couldn't imagine ever embracing anyone the same way again.

She sat down at the kitchen table and sipped on a hot mug of tea to thaw out her frozen body. Friend tells you he loves you and dead husband tells you to fall in love again so you make a cup of tea.