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“I can’t decide if suicide is the most selfish or selfless act.”
“More than half.” Cuddy kept hold of Vincent for a moment. “That’s how many come back to me. Make sure you’re not one of them.”
Better and worse. Bad and good. None of us are any one thing. We’re just a collection of the best and worst things we’ve done.
“I go to church but I don’t believe in God. He goes to prison but is not a criminal.”
“Hope is secular. And life is fragile. And sometimes we hold on too tight, even though we know it’ll break.”
He sat and cleared his throat. “I’ve been watching you.” “Well, that’s not creepy at all.” She shuffled further from him. “I was thinking. Would you like to—” “Never.” “My father said my mother turned him down the first time. But her eyes said yes so he persisted.” “Spoken like a true rapist.”
“So when you point it out, all this beauty, all this that you see and you think I see too. You should know it pales beside what I saw before. This purple”—she waved a hand at the huckleberries beside—“makes me think of her ribs, beat dark like that. The blue water, that’s her eyes, clear enough to see there’s no soul behind them anymore. You breathe the air and you think it’s fresh, but I can’t even take a breath without feeling that stab.” She beat her chest hard. “I am alone. I will look after my brother and you will leave us because you don’t really care. And you can say what you like, what
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“It’s not always easy to be brave, you know. I’m not like you.
“The mob got it right then. If the good stand by idle, are they still good?”
“Death has a way of making saints out of mortals. But with children … there is no bad.
In the house was her suitcase and her brother, and she had nothing else in the world. She could not decide if that made her free or so terribly cursed.
“Tragedy has a way of making saints out of sinners.
