Kindle Notes & Highlights
I don’t know then that one day I won’t be seventeen. I don’t know that youth doesn’t last, that it’s only a moment, and then it disappears and by the time you finally realize it, it’s too late. It’s finished, vanished, lost.
Today, I’d like to slap this seventeen-year-old kid, not because of the good grades but because of his incessant need to please those who would judge him.
with everyone else. It’s recess. I just got out of two hours of philosophy (“Can one assume at the same time the liberty of man and the existence of the unconscious?”), the kind of subject we are told can show up on “the bac,” the French end-of-high-school exam. I’m waiting for my
of my room to him. I tried to imagine the new occupants, but I couldn’t. After, we took the car out again and I showed him the place where a delivery truck
Nothing touches me more than cracks in the armor and the person who reveals them.
Doesn’t matter where you go, just change the scenery,
need for exile will put millions of miles and jet lag between France and me, and
her. I was far too occupied with gnawing on the candied
In the end, love was only possible because he saw me not as who I was, but as the person I would become.
sons don’t necessarily have to take over from their fathers,
so that our skin touches (he has no problem with nudity and teaches me to be less afraid of mine).
short, since they are often exhausted and have to go to bed early.
Desire does not go out like a match, it extinguishes slowly as it burns into ash.
hardly said anything yet but it’s as if everyone is waiting for an explosion.
And then over time, it dissipates, and fades, dispersing like pollen in the air at the return of spring.
bond has formed, grown from nothing, it’s spellbinding. Outside, beyond the open French windows, it is summer
