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“I hate you because I’m going to die and you’re going to live.” As he glanced up at a seagull, he thought, But I’m not living, Betsy. What a terrible joke it has been.
People either didn’t know how they felt about something or they chose never to say how they really felt about something.
“You haven’t been here in a while,” Olive said. “Things change and your memory is different too.”
think our job—maybe even our duty—is to—” Her voice became calm, adultlike. “To bear the burden of the mystery with as much grace as we can.”
Imagine at my age, starting over again.” Olive put the towel in her lap and raised one opened hand slightly. “But it’s never starting over, Cindy, it’s just continuing on.”
“I get lonely when I travel,” Andrea said. Olive wasn’t sure she’d heard this right, but she decided she had, and she thought about it. “Well,” she said, “you were probably always lonely.”
“When you get old,” Olive told Andrea after the girl had walked away, “you become invisible. It’s just the truth. And yet it’s freeing in a way.”
The news was amazing to her. And this helped her. The country was in terrible disarray, and Olive found this interesting. At times she thought fascism might be knocking on the door of the country, but then she would think, Oh, I’ll die soon, who cares.
do not have a clue who I have been. Truthfully, I do not understand a thing.
