The Goldfinch

by Donna Tartt

And as much as I wanted to, I knew I couldn’t turn around, that to look at her directly was to violate the laws of her world and mine;

when I lost her I lost sight of any landmark that might have led me someplace happier, to some more populated or congenial life.

It’s crazy,” she’d said, “but I’d be perfectly happy if I could sit looking at the same half dozen paintings for the rest of my life. I can’t think of a better way to go insane.”)

He’s telling you that living things don’t last—it’s all temporary. Death in life. That’s why they’re called natures mortes. Maybe you don’t see it at first with all the beauty and bloom, the little speck of rot. But if you look closer—there it is.”