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“To break the silence the old man said the first thing that came to his mind: "Loneliness is a type of violence.”
― Hiding Out
― Hiding Out
“How could you love something so destructive?" I ask.
"Because this wolf doesn't care if your heart is whole or not," you say. "It tastes just the same.”
― Hiding Out
"Because this wolf doesn't care if your heart is whole or not," you say. "It tastes just the same.”
― Hiding Out
“The impulse to tell the truth was not as great as the fear of being left off the page.”
― Hiding Out
― Hiding Out
“How did it die?" he asked.
"Short circuit," I said. "Old and frayed wires."
He looked at me like I was senile.
"Could have been disease. Violence. Or, sometimes, things die because we don't love them enough.”
― Hiding Out
"Short circuit," I said. "Old and frayed wires."
He looked at me like I was senile.
"Could have been disease. Violence. Or, sometimes, things die because we don't love them enough.”
― Hiding Out
“I don't think my moped could outrun a cheetah."
"Hun," Claire says. "There are more important things you need to outrun, and a moped isn't going to help you with any of those.”
― Hiding Out
"Hun," Claire says. "There are more important things you need to outrun, and a moped isn't going to help you with any of those.”
― Hiding Out
“So there are no ill effects?” I asked.
“Well, as I said, you could die.”
I looked him in the eye, my one good eye flicking back and forth between the two of his.
“So, if you had to give me odds for living another forty years, say until I was seventy, what would the odds be?”
“I’m not very good at that sort of thing.”
“Ten to one? One hundred to one?”
“I’ve never really understood what that means,” he said.
“Just give me the odds.”
“Of you living till you’re seventy?” he said. “I’d say it’s thirty-five, seventy-five.”
I shook my head. Dr. Owen and his nineteenth-century frame, blunt disregard for my need to be reassured and fucked-up math was too much. This man was making my world small. I imagined he was a moon who had just eclipsed me.
- "Bicycle Kick”
― Hiding Out
“Well, as I said, you could die.”
I looked him in the eye, my one good eye flicking back and forth between the two of his.
“So, if you had to give me odds for living another forty years, say until I was seventy, what would the odds be?”
“I’m not very good at that sort of thing.”
“Ten to one? One hundred to one?”
“I’ve never really understood what that means,” he said.
“Just give me the odds.”
“Of you living till you’re seventy?” he said. “I’d say it’s thirty-five, seventy-five.”
I shook my head. Dr. Owen and his nineteenth-century frame, blunt disregard for my need to be reassured and fucked-up math was too much. This man was making my world small. I imagined he was a moon who had just eclipsed me.
- "Bicycle Kick”
― Hiding Out
