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Conversations are always dangerous if you have something to hide.
“Life is hard. After all, it kills you.”
“People your age—young people, I mean—you treat your lives like galleries, for public display, open to all. My life is no gallery. It’s a vault, a black box, and—I’m sorry I can’t put this more elegantly—it’s nobody’s damn business.”
Nicky will defend a beloved book as if it’s her young. Even from its author.
He can mock his own work, if he likes, but he ought to consider how he’s also mocking his readers.
“I like to know. I like to understand.”
I’m interested in the wounds a person keeps secret. Even the madness. Why do we hide them?”
“I don’t think I can imagine wanting to die,” she says, slowly. “But I guess I can imagine not wanting to live.”
The truth is the best defense.”
Perhaps time isn’t the best killer. Perhaps grief is.
“Men.” He snorts. “Men are where evolution backed itself into a corner.”
