More on this book
Community
Kindle Notes & Highlights
Our grandmothers would often tell us that no matter how much you envy someone, if everyone threw their package of problems into the center of a room and was given a choice of anyone else’s, you would, guaranteed, pick up your own.
The problem is that they didn’t stop to consider what the rest of us knew, which was that they had no right to set the conditions for safety and survival in the first place—that safety and survival might not work that way. They don’t care about you. They don’t accrue like an Israel bond. The more you bank on them as investments that feed off themselves, the more precarious and insidious their yields. But what are you going to do? That’s how rich people are.
Her ancestors had left their ability to share their feelings on the Mayflower and had never called lost luggage to pick it up.
This was his least favorite kind of high, the kind where you suddenly understand all the things you didn’t realize you already knew, where everything was laid bare and you realized that the state of sobriety was itself a kind of lie we tell ourselves.
You don’t actually talk about things you know about people; you just live with the knowledge and allow it to ride quietly in the backseat of your relationship.
“You’re going to have to tell your grandmother and your father that, after all your grandfather did to hide away from the Nazis, to sneak out on a boat in the middle of the night, to nearly starve as a stowaway on a boat, that this is what you’re doing. I’m going to pretend this conversation never happened.”
How could you start on your fresh start when you were standing in the graveyard of your past?