Conversations with Friends

by Sally Rooney

A school of taxis and cars swam past and a drunk man walking on the other side of the street yelled that he loved me.

Her hands were large and sallow, not at all like mine. They were full of the practicality I lacked, and my hand fit into them like something that needed fixing.

When Nick and I looked at one another we looked away quickly, but not quickly enough to stop us from smiling.

I can’t remember if I thought about this at the beginning. How it was doomed to end unhappily. He nodded, looking at me. I did, he said. I just thought it would be worth it.

Was “kindness” just another term for submission in the face of conflict?

Standing in his house was like watching someone familiar smile at me, but with missing teeth.

I hated them both, with the intensity of passionate love.

It felt like opening a door that’s been inside your own house all along, a door that you walk past every day and try never to think about.

what is a friend? we would say humorously. What is a conversation?

I thought you’d forgotten all about me. The idea of forgetting anything about you is kind of horrifying to me.

You live through certain things before you understand them. You can’t always take the analytical position.