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What is a wedding, Cleo wondered, if not a private dream made public, a fantasy suspended between two worlds like a cat’s cradle?
“Eighty percent of relationship,” she said, “is tolerating difference.”
When the darkest part of you meets the darkest part of me, it creates light.
Fun was fine when you were young, but as you got older it was kindness that counted, kindness that showed up.
She’d learned early that it was quicker to bond with another person over what you didn’t like than what you did, and that the easiest way to feel close to someone was to do something transgressive together.
“You owe yourself the same care you give to others.”
“Don’t be a stranger?” he said instead. “Some of my best friends are strangers,” she said, and walked back into the crowd.
There is a line in Shakespeare, I forget which play, where a character is described as having “a face as long as Sunday.” That’s what it’s like here. Every day is Sunday.
