The Rules Do Not Apply

by Ariel Levy

anything you think is yours by right can vanish, and what you can do about that is nothing at all.

I was neither ostracized nor ill at ease—I was self-reliant, brave, ingeniously surviving, if lost.

Books are the other natural habitat for a child who loves words and adventures,

faithful can turn to God. My lined notebooks were the only place I could say as much as I wanted, whenever I wanted. To this day I feel comforted and relieved of loneliness, no matter how foreign my surroundings, if I have a pad and a pen.

There is nothing I love more than traveling to a place where I know nobody, and where everything will be a surprise, and then writing about it. It’s like having a new lover—even the parts you aren’t crazy about have the crackling fascination of the unfamiliar.

Daring to think that the rules do not apply is the mark of a visionary. It’s also a symptom of narcissism.

I produced thoughts not distracted by any concern other than the tangled thread of dreams and desires.”

She had a strong jawline and a build that slid straight from her ribs to her hips; her torso was like the breastplate on a suit of armor.

What was familiar became fearsome. The walls that had been inert all day were possessed at night, vibrating with menace. I sat erect, struggling to keep my eyes open until sunrise, when safety was restored and I could sleep for a few ragged hours before school.

Nothing really bad could happen to me in my movie, because I was the protagonist.

and she smiled with all the openness in the world

Women of my generation were given the lavish gift of our own agency by feminism—a belief that we could decide for ourselves how we would live, what would become of us. Writers may be particularly susceptible to this outlook, because we are accustomed to the power of authorship. (Even if you write nonfiction, you still control how the story unfolds.) Life was complying with my story.

There were shadows I saw out of the corner of my eye that looked like problems waiting to become real, but you never know with shadows.

Live in a world of your own invention, according to whatever rules you chose.

I wanted what she had wanted, what we all want: everything. We want a mate who feels like family and a lover who is exotic, surprising. We want to be youthful adventurers and middle-aged mothers. We want intimacy and autonomy, safety and stimulation, reassurance and novelty, coziness and thrills. But we can’t have it all.

“Character is who you are when nobody else is watching,”

“Everybody doesn’t get everything.”

In writing you can always change the ending or delete a chapter that isn’t working. Life is uncooperative, impartial, incontestable.