Conversations with Friends

by Sally Rooney

allowing my sense of time and personal identity to dissolve as the light dimmed outside the windows.

made me enjoy conversation, in the same irrational and sensuous way I enjoyed coffee or loud music.

They were full of the practicality I lacked, and my hand fit into them like something that needed fixing.

I wasn’t the kind of person I pretended to be.

He doesn’t love you. That’s what hurts.

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

I wanted to appear in front of them like a benevolent ghost and sprinkle blessings into their lives.

Gradually the waiting began to feel less like waiting and more like this was simply what life was: the distracting tasks undertaken while the thing you are waiting for continues not to happen.

You underestimate your own power so you don’t have to blame yourself for treating other people badly.

It’s possible to feel so grateful that you can’t get to sleep at night.

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