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I understand that in our work, doesn’t matter whether it’s acting or writing, what’s important isn’t fame or glamour, none of the things I used to dream about. It’s the ability to endure. —Anton Chekhov, The Seagull
No one is yours, and you belong to no one. We’re all just fallen foes trying to survive this universe.
Winnifred Ashcroft is the only thing remotely entertaining about this event, and feasting on her self-esteem is tastier than eating any other dish served here tonight.
“Outgrew them when I became a widow. Life’s too short to be a well-behaved lady.”
“Are you just going to stand there and let him talk to me like that?” she demands. I smooth out my suit. “I can sit down if you prefer.”
“Life is beautiful and wild, and it doesn’t wait for you to decide to participate in it. You need to jump into the water headfirst. And when you do? Make sure to make a splash.”
“Too bad we’re not measured based on our good times. It’s how we perform in the bad times that makes us who we are.”
“That’s right, life is a messy business. Living is a lesson in endurance.” Arsène nods. “And endurance is a lesson in humility. The problem with humankind is that everyone wants a simple, comfortable life. But that’s such a terrible existence. How could you ever appreciate the good moments if you haven’t braved the bad ones?
Just because a man is perfect doesn’t mean he is perfect for you.
“I am Mars, and there might be life on it. There could be. Thanks to you. I burn for you, Winnifred. And I’m tired of living in the cold. Come back to New York. Make the place livable. For both of us. Please.”
