The People in the Trees

by Hanya Yanagihara

He had the sort of face that was memorable for its absences rather than its presences: cheeks so gaunt and cadaverous that it looked as if someone had reached in, scooped out the meat in two quick movements, and sent him on his way.

But science, specifically the science of disease, was all delicious secrets, dark oily pockets of mystery.

(a good sign of a weak mind is the doctor who insists that it’s the patient, not the disease, on whom one’s efforts should be concentrated),

For what more could we presume to ask from death—but kindness?

they were all ambitious, competitive, and eager for their own bit of glory.

in others you see your future, or at least a template for your future,

but they were the sort of men for whom humor was to be practiced only at the appropriate events (parties, dinners, etc.) and then only within a very limited range.

so thick that you felt for a minute frightened of the jungle, its voracious appetite and ambition, its hunger to consume every surface it encountered.

your saliva deserting you in protest.

Pfizer’s sorrow, of Lilly’s dismay, of Johnson and Johnson’s agony, of Merck’s rage?

Does Pfizer know they were so close?! :)))

Pfizer’s sorrow, of Lilly’s dismay, of Johnson and Johnson’s agony, of Merck’s rage?

Big bad pharma industry

Was there a finite number of accomplishments one person might be granted in his life, and if so, hadn’t I surely reached my quota?

They always wanted to know, my children, why they had been given this name or that. They were fond of self-mythologizing, and I think they all hoped that there might be some heroic story behind their naming, that they alone might be imbued with a special significance, that I might have secreted some message to them in my choice