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Our family histories are simply stories. They are myths we create about the people who came before us, in order to make sense of ourselves.
I don’t think what you’re born into says anything about where you’re headed.”
He had one of those hearts that stick to things. And he wanted to stick to her. She seemed like such a good one to stick to.
“But a good life is knowing people care about you, knowing you can take care of the people that count on you, knowing you’re doing a little something in your community.
How were you supposed to change—in ways both big and small—when your family was always there to remind you of exactly the person you apparently signed an ironclad contract to be?
As with most of their disagreements, they found the anger dissipated as soon as they forgot to hold on to it.
Real
She was a woman, after all. Living in a world created by men. And she had long known that assholes protect their own. They are faithful to no one but surprisingly protective of each other.
Laying the cast perfectly in the hope that one day she would not even remember she had been broken.
I am more than just a woman he left.
They were good at this, they had experience. This was how they began the process of forgetting the people who turned their backs.
“You are an awful man,” she cried. “You were born a piece of shit and you’ll die a piece of shit just like every other piece of shit on this planet!”
He gave no thought to the idea that he might break his children just as someone had broken him.
He was getting so sick of all the people around him all the time. And yet, he didn’t want to find out what his soul had to say when he was by himself.
It is as if once your heart has been broken you learn of the deepest reserves it carries.
Oh, how good it felt to be important to somebody the way she felt important to him.
When he finally came back to her again, he was going to respect her. He was going to bow at her feet and grovel, in awe of her strength.
These two had no real understanding of doing anything alone. They had come together at such a young age that they knew of no world but the one they inhabited alongside each other.
He was lost in pure, fresh joy. The kind that keeps you weightless even after you’ve touched ground.
She loved their thoughts and ideas, loved to hear about their personal discoveries, loved to watch them as they began to take the shape of fully formed people.
Our heritage lingers in our blood.
It was the beginning of a lesson her children would learn by heart: Alcoholism is a disease with many faces, and some of them look beautiful.
it was perfectly clear to both of them that there was a big difference between what you needed to believe and what you actually believed.
When there is only you, you do not get to choose which jobs you want, you do not get to decide you are incapable of anything. There is no room for distaste or weakness. You must do it all. All of the ugliness, the sadness, the things most people can’t stand to even think about, all must live inside of you. You must be capable of everything.
The world seemed no more manageable to her today than it had yesterday. Only a little less unpredictable.
It felt terrible, simply terrible, to have the most vulnerable thing about you pointed out and given a name.
Too much self-sufficiency was sort of mean to the people who loved you, Kit thought. You robbed them of how good it feels to give, of their sense of value.
She mourned the things that would never happen.
The photo was phenomenal to everyone except the woman featured in it.
They will not know what the future holds or if their paths will ever cross again. But they will feel that—for one night at least—someone has seen them as they have always wanted to be seen. And that will be enough.
