Crossroads

by Jonathan Franzen

and when you really loved someone, the whole person, you simply accepted the little things you might have wished were different.

It wasn’t clear to Marion that the charm of Christmas lights at night was enough to offset how ugly the hardware looked in daylight hours, of which there were many. Nor was it clear that the excitement of Christmas for children was enough to make up for the disenchanted drudgery of it in their adult years, of which there were likewise many.

“She’s a good mother. Maybe a little too anxious—every little sniffle is a sure sign of whooping cough. But you wouldn’t believe how quickly the most interesting person in the world can turn into the most boring person you’ll ever meet.”

It was strange that self-pity wasn’t on the list of deadly sins; none was deadlier.

Hope was the refuge of the stupid.

Tiny treats, an air-conditioned car, a drink by the pool, an after-dinner cigarette, could get a person through her life.