The Story of a New Name (Neapolitan Novels #2)

by Elena Ferrante

Although I imposed on myself an appearance of self-assurance and an iron discipline, I gave in continuously, with painful pleasure, to waves of unhappiness. Everything seemed to be against me.

Did I keep my feelings muted because I was frightened by the violence with which, in fact, in my innermost self, I wanted things, people, praise, triumphs?

I will give what I can give, I will take what I can take, I will endure what has to be endured.

I would always be afraid: afraid of saying the wrong thing, of using an exaggerated tone, of dressing unsuitably, of revealing petty feelings, of not having interesting thoughts.

I was frightened by the idea of opening my mouth, and, at the same time, humiliated by staying silent.