More on this book
Community
Kindle Notes & Highlights
“Like the sway of the sea and the tug of the tides, love is a moving, eternal thing. Let us not be afraid of the wax and the wane, the rise and the fall, the eternal undertow. Each time our souls meet, let us submerge our bodies in the bright blue cold, and let the waves make us anew.” A tear slid down the apple of her cheek. “I love you, and I have loved you, and I will love you.”
In a futile attempt at self-preservation, my mind rehearsed loss before death closed its fingers, as though practicing it would lessen the blow. It never did.
“I love you, and I have loved you, and I will love you,” he whispered, hoarse, tortured. My throat ached. “I love you, and I have loved you, and I will love you.”
as I gazed upon the first bramble, I thought of how the world reinvents itself year after year, century after century, summer deepening always into autumn, winter brightening always into spring, growing new flowers from old roots, and I thought of how it feels to hold you, each season of you, our love blossoming afresh, year after year, century after century, new flowers from old roots, an eternal seed from which life will always bloom
Almost everyone I had ever loved was dead, and the hurt never went away; I just learned to exist alongside it.
And so, in the absence of any abiding religious convictions, this was the one blind faith I had: that love was a physical force, and it was never wasted. Once it was called out into the universe, it would echo back to us forever.
“My love for you could fill an ocean, Evelyn.” There was an awful resignation to her tone. “But it can’t stop the tide of time.”
Because that’s the thing about humans—we leave traces of our souls everywhere, as unique and identifying as fingerprints.
“The Evelyn I know … they love over and over and over again, even though it can only ever end in tragedy. Even though they’ve lost everyone they’ve ever loved, and they miss them in the next life, and the next, and the next. Never have they developed hard edges like I have. Never have they tried to protect themselves from that pain. They love softly, and fiercely, and openly, and it’s the bravest thing I know. The most human thing I know.”
“Ruthful, the original. From the thirteenth century, or around then. How can you have forgotten? It means endless compassion, a deep empathy for others.” His jaw was taut and his gaze was urgent. “I hope you never lose that bottomless capacity for love. I hope you hold on to what makes you human.”
this is how bees make honey: they suck careful nectar from open flowers and bring their bounty back to the hive, where they kiss it from mouth to mouth until it runs thick and sweet. every parent we have ever loved walked this glorious earth gathering nectar from the flowers of their lives, kissing it into the mouths of their children, and now the honey is ours.
connection. How easy modernity had made it to declare love—a funny video shared with a friend, real money sent to virtual coffee funds, a snap of the flowers your grandmother picked from her garden. The everyday tenderness of “I saw this and thought of you.”
There was much to condemn about the internet, but there was no denying how flint-fast it made the art ofconnection. How easy modernity had made it to declare love—a funny video shared with a friend, real money sent to virtual coffee funds, a snap of the flowers your grandmother picked from her garden. The everyday tenderness of “I saw this and thought of you.”
“What’s your secret, Evelyn? How does the candle of hope in your chest never burn down to the wick?” Gazing up at the phoenix sky, I searched myself for the answer, like running my fingers over an ancient map. “I think I understood a long time ago that big joy and small joy are the same. It sounds trite, but it’s true.
“You have faith in all of humanity. You have faith in love. Please, have faith in me. I do this to protect you. Do you understand that? That I would lay my body over yours, war after war after war, life after life after life?”
Ya’aburnee was a favourite. It means ‘may you bury me.’ It’s
The idea that one person in a pairing longs to die before the other, because living without them would be too excruciating
“If a hero is someone who will give up love to save the world, then a villain is the reverse. Someone who will give up the world to save love.” “So you’re a villain. You admit it.” He shrugged. “There’s no line I wouldn’t cross to keep a loved one safe.” I laughed, albeit bitterly. “By design, you don’t have any loved ones.” There was a heavy pause, in which I feared I may have wounded him too deeply, but then he muttered, “I have you.”
“You’re very brave. I hope you know that.” “I’m not brave. I’m terrified.” “It’s impossible to have bravery without fear. Bravery is picking up the fear and carrying it alongside you, rather than allowing it to block the path.”
if people are songs written in the major or the minor key, then you, my dear, are major. a climb, a crescendo, a thousand trumpets, a clashing of cymbals, joy and awe, rousing, reaching, always to the stars. and I am but a dirge, a requiem, a lamentation, a melancholic harp in D minor, forever wondering why you chose me.
“It’s overwhelming, loving like this,” I said weakly, my chest aching and aching. “My heart feels like an open wound. I don’t understand how everyone just … walks around with the knowledge that everyone they love will soon be dead. I look at my sister, my mum, and it’s all I can see. Inevitable loss. I look at them and I think, I love you so much, and we will one day lose each other forever, and I might die from the pain of it. So I try to pull myself back, to detach, to keep a healthy distance, like you do, but I can’t. I can’t.” I sniffed back the tears threatening to surge afresh. “And part
...more
To love was to live, and to live was to die.
even when we are but bones in the earth my eternal heart will love you still, for even when a star does perish its light burns on for millennia
