Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow

by Gabrielle Zevin

But people—the ordinary, the decent and basically honest—couldn’t get through the day without that one indispensable bit of programming that allowed you to say one thing and mean, feel, even do, another.

And to see her almost made him want to cry. It was as if she were a mathematical proof that had eluded him for many years, but all at once, with fresh, well-rested eyes, the proof had a completely obvious solution.

How many times can you look at something and know that everyone around you is seeing the same thing or at the very least that their brains and eyes are responding to the same phenomenon? How much proof do you ever have that we’re all in the same world?”

he knew himself and he knew he was the type of person that never called anyone, unless he was absolutely certain the advance would be welcomed.

Same, Sam. D:

“You’re incredibly gifted, Sam. But it is worth noting that to be good at something is not quite the same as loving it.”

Sadie liked the phrase “an abundance of caution.” It reminded her of a murder of crows, a flock of seagulls, a pack of wolves. She imagined that “caution” was a creature of some kind—maybe, a cross between a Saint Bernard and an elephant.

“You’re weird, Sadie,” Sam said, with interest in his voice.

But I can tell you that the people who give you charity are never your friends. It is not possible to receive charity from a friend.”

Reminds me of the chapter in White Women on white saviors and allyship. Charity goes to people separate from you, in situations where you have no skin in the game.

asked if Dov cared which programming language they used. “Why would I care? They’re all identical. They all can suck my dick. And I mean that literally. You have to make whatever programming language you use suck your dick. It needs to serve you.” Dov looked over at Hannah. “You don’t have a dick, so clit, whatever. Pick the programming language that is going to make you come.”

O_O good lord

There is a time for any fledgling artist where one’s taste exceeds one’s abilities. The only way to get through this period is to make things anyway.

People who felt far less for each other said “love” all the time, and it didn’t mean a thing. And maybe that was the point. He more than loved Sadie Green. There needed to be another word for it.

It isn’t a sadness, but a joy, that we don’t do the same things for the length of our lives.”

Marx was fortunate because he saw everything as if it were a fortuitous bounty. It was impossible to know—were persimmons his favorite fruit, or had they just now become his favorite fruit because there they were, growing in his own backyard? He had certainly never mentioned persimmons before.

The way to turn an ex-lover into a friend is to never stop loving them, to know that when one phase of a relationship ends it can transform into something else. It is to acknowledge that love is both a constant and a variable at the same time.

“Is he Fleance because he flees?” “Am I Banquo because I die on the way to a banquet? These are solid questions, Sam.”

They were in her car on the way back from a math competition in San Diego, and Sam was giddy with the feeling of being better than everyone else at something that he didn’t care about at all.

“No, I like this, but I don’t know if I understand it yet,” Sam said. “Why don’t you tell me how you see it?”

I know my house is closer to town than yours. If you do ever decide to marry me,” Daedalus said, “I did not wish convenience to be a factor in your decision.”

“And what is love, in the end?” Alabaster said. “Except the irrational desire to put evolutionary competitiveness aside in order to ease someone else’s journey through life?”