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“You know,” she’d said, “they say people are like snowflakes, each one unique, but I think they’re more like skies. Some are cloudy, some are stormy, some are clear, but no two are ever quite the same.”
tricorne
Aut viam invenium aut faciam,
To find a way, or make your own.
“Small places make for small lives. And some people are fine with that. They like knowing where to put their feet. But if you only walk in other people’s steps, you cannot make your own way. You cannot leave a mark.”
“Do you think a life has any value if one doesn’t leave some mark upon the world?” Remy’s expression sobers, and he must read the sadness in her voice, because he says, “I think there are many ways to matter.” He plucks the book from his pocket. “These are the words of a man—Voltaire. But they are also the hands that set the type. The ink that made it readable, the tree that made the paper. All of them matter, though credit goes only to the name on the cover.”
salonnière
(she “doesn’t like to encourage fallacy in a world rife with empty speech”)
esoteric.
vestige
béchamel,
PRETEND THAT THIS IS
“Nothing is all good or all bad,” she says. “Life is so much messier than that.”
Were the instants of joy worth the stretches of sorrow? Were the moments of beauty worth the years of pain?
XVIII Chapter
