Kindle Notes & Highlights
the walls were bleached an inflamed bronze as a last echo of dying light, fat with promises that couldn’t be held together.
I knew the answer and it wasn’t one I wanted to say even in the shuttered privacy of my own head.
It often felt like I was grasping the memory of a precious dream which would greasily slip and slide out of sight if looked at directly. In
events the wonder would fade as would my grasp of what I’d done, leaving me with an ashen sense that something had wanted to be uncovered and I was little more than its tool.
‘You’re saying that everything has information,’ said Joan slowly. I had a sudden image of her being told by a restaurant that they’d not held her reservation.
I had no comfort to offer her, no sentiment about how it would be all right, about how we would be okay. Who can see the world for what it is and then make promises like that?
