Less Is Lost

by Andrew Sean Greer

Arthur Less breaks down in racking sobs that are equal parts relived sorrow and musical-theater joy, and show me the homosexual who could sift out which is which.

Reading an Overman novel is like being put in the care of a neglectful uncle; any character might die, any violent memory might appear, any drug might be shot into any vein.

Anyway, dogs never say goodbye.

“That’s what dying people say, Archie. They say they love you and they forgive you. I think it’s a script the hospital hands out.”

‘Fuck that. You don’t get that, Rebecca. This isn’t redecorating, this is house-on-fire shit. This is grabbing what to save. This is leaving shit behind. This is once-in-a-lifetime suffering and pain and heartache and yet it may be your only chance to decide what you really want. None of this I don’t want to change bullshit. Hell no—you’ve changed. That’s happened. Now what? Everything changes and this one fucking time, you’re in charge of it, my God, so choose! Make the wrong choice, that’s fine! That’s fine! But choose.’

I love this