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Kindle Notes & Highlights
What was it about a woman that made him even now quiver like a fish?
Lmao
Dorrigo Evans hated virtue, hated virtue being admired, hated people who pretended he had virtue or pretended to virtue themselves. And the more he was accused of virtue as he grew older, the more he hated it. He did not believe in virtue. Virtue was vanity dressed up and waiting for applause.
the invisible, nameless, terrible wanting that she feared might be the very essence of life.
the world does not allow for miracles, that people die, and that she could not stop them dying; that they leave you and you love them more, and still she could not stop them dying.
Suffering is suffering. Suffering is not virtue, nor does it make virtue, nor does of it virtue necessarily flow.
Yet every day he carries them, nurses them, holds them, cuts them open and sews them up, plays cards for their souls and dares death to save one more life. He lies and cheats and robs too, but for them, always for them. For he has come to love them, and every day he understands that he is failing in his love, for every day more and more of them die.
