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The third, in the manner of Goldilocks, was just right—around my age, well groomed, sensible-looking.
Some people, weak people, fear solitude. What they fail to understand is that there’s something very liberating about it; once you realize that you don’t need anyone, you can take care of yourself.
Twenty-first-century communication. I fear for our nation’s standards of literacy.
Grief is the price we pay for love, so they say. The price is far too high.
These days, loneliness is the new cancer—a shameful, embarrassing thing, brought upon yourself in some obscure way. A fearful, incurable thing, so horrifying that you dare not mention it; other people don’t want to hear the word spoken aloud for fear that they might too be afflicted, or that it might tempt fate into visiting a similar horror upon them.
Margaret liked this
“Jesus Christ!” a man’s voice said. “Eleanor Oliphant,” I replied.
“SpongeBob SquarePants?” A semi-human bath sponge with protruding front teeth! On sale as if it were something completely unremarkable! For my entire life, people have said that I’m strange, but really, when I see things like this, I realize that I’m actually relatively normal.
(a vase of roses, made using a computer by someone who was dead inside)
“Yes, I suppose you would have remembered an Oliphant in the room,” I said.
Obscenity is the distinguishing hallmark of a sadly limited vocabulary.

