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That encounter had been, in a sense, immaterial: above the world, objects didn’t count for so much, differences were less apparent.
The material reality of my neighbour, which up there had seemed so light, was concretised down here, and the result was that he seemed more of a stranger, as though context were also a kind of imprisonment.
It seems success takes you away from what you know, he said, while failure condemns you to it.
Looking back, those were some of the best times of her life, though at the time they had had the feeling of a prelude, a period of waiting, as though for the real drama of living to begin.
