More on this book
Community
Kindle Notes & Highlights
my wife miscarried in the bathroom. I mopped up the blood myself, used a whole tub of Lysol Wipes, and now it feels like we live in a morgue.
“Maybe Hobomeck only reveals itself to you when you need Hobomeck,” Marianne said.
The Sin-Planters believed wild spaces were more holy than any church a man could build?
It never once crossed his mind that he was depressed, too, that he had also lost a child.
Their branches curved above him like the blackened ribs of some monstrous creature, the ancient bones of a beached megalodon.
First comes love, then comes miscarriage, then comes Willy with a lonesome bottle of red in a baby carriage.
He didn’t feel they had lost a baby; it had been stolen from them, along with their daydreams, their whole idea of the future.
The unfairness of it angered Willy. It made him want to strangle someone. God, perhaps. Give him some nails—Willy would crucify the unjust bastard all over again.
The universe had settled into the business of taking things away from him:
