Kevin > Kevin's Quotes

“You’ll freeze out here,” he said. What did he know? I was already a sheet of ice, a frozen branch, a twig. I could freeze in my own house, if I wanted to. The man’s eyes darted down the road.
I was an icy slip of nothing. I was invincible.”
― Monica Drake, The Folly of Loving Life

“Spelling is a way to make words safe, at least for now, until another technology appears to soften attacks launched from the mouth.”
― Ben Marcus, Notable American Women

“Mr. Pappadakis smells like Just for Men peroxide dye and eucalyptus foot unguents. He has a face like a catcher's mitt. The whole thing puckers inward, drooping with the memory of some dropped fly ball.”
― Karen Russell

“They weren't hours, these classes; they weren't even forty-five minutes--they were "periods," which sounded to me as if they were each at once a little era and then the end you had to see decisively put to it.”
― Gary Lutz

“A chainsaw's God's way of evening out the playing field between you and everything, even the invisible stuff.”
― Jennifer L. Knox, Drunk by Noon

“...All that grotty jiz crusting to sugar in my ass crevice...”
― Lara Glenum

“Anytime things were going right for you, the future of the world seemed bright. Anytime they were going wrong, the imminent collapse of civilization was at hand. Can't you see how thoroughly you projected your own subjective vision of reality on the world?”
― Ryan Boudinot, Blueprints of the Afterlife

“What I feel in that kitchen is the way humans are so flawed and so perfect, and I want to share bodies. You know your old dog? That’s how I feel—I want to climb on people, breathe their breath, lick the inside of stranger’s mouths. I don’t know these two, but who do we ever know, really, past the skin? How do we get there?”
― Monica Drake, The Folly of Loving Life

“The Arboretum’s overgrown grass rustled. The branches of an apple tree shook as though an animal had jumped from one to the next. A wind slid up my thighs, in the night, under my short nightgown. Crickets and cicadas made a sound like distant laughing children, the laugh track to a sitcom that didn’t end. It was like the grass was full of tiny giggling babies. So beautiful, and creepy.”
― Monica Drake, The Folly of Loving Life

“This was my language. The house was talking to me. It was telling me about my own mistakes: they don’t go away. The trash goes out, but it seeps back in tiny increments, like the backflow of blood, the rush that causes a heart murmur.”
― Monica Drake, The Folly of Loving Life

“Terrifying things happen in even ordinary houses, with ordinary families. Terrifying things come in very small pieces, slowly seeping in.
I took a walk down the driveway on our land, just to feel the trees reach for me in the dark. I touched their leaves. Those trees whispered, You are a conduit. That’s what they said! To me. And I understood--I was between mother and child, between the natural world and the concrete overtaking us, between the living and the dead, and I could hear history talking to me, showing me its stories in code.
It sounded crazy, but not as crazy as pretending our lives were new, and separate from all the people who had come and died before.”
― Monica Drake, The Folly of Loving Life

“My head was so light. Wind sang through the field grass. The same wind brushed hair off my face, soft as my mother’s hand, and when the falling snow started to clump into flakes, each thick flake came down with the love of a frozen kiss, like somebody was saving up, freezing their warm love for later.”
― Monica Drake, The Folly of Loving Life

“I felt stiff, the way I moved when I took that first bite, like I was eating something in church. He’d made that sausage so carefully. Food was his thing. I took another bite. I did. I ate it. I ate the dead man’s hot and meaty sandwich. It was good. […] When you see women who don’t eat? Or women who cleanse, detox and purge? I think they’ve done something like this. They’ve eaten in a way that’s left a memory, a creepy ghost, a body inside their own body.”
― Monica Drake, The Folly of Loving Life

“He was hurt. He was a man who needed a country. I was a woman who needed a man. I’d be his country. He’d be my dictator. I saw our future unfold like a history book.”
― Monica Drake, The Folly of Loving Life

“Shadows fell across us, a flicker in dim light. Somebody passed at the mouth of the alley. He said, “We could both be killed.”
I whispered, “Sure. In grade school, a boy choked on Jell-O, it’s that common.” I laughed, drunk on our future. Death seemed a small risk. “We can have the world.”
― Monica Drake, The Folly of Loving Life

“I, American in body and spirit, healthy, debauched and dedicated to travel, had no date. I felt a simmering discontent. What good was freedom when I wasn’t free to hand it over, what use was the currency of my body if I couldn’t spend it?”
― Monica Drake, The Folly of Loving Life

“And she thought, Who the hell are you, Mister? But his eyes were blue and his hair was thick, and his arms were strong and sinewy. He had a Nevada tan, desert tan, wherever he’d been living, wherever he sometimes went. He was gorgeous, that hothead. She put an orange segment in her mouth, held it out toward his mouth, leaned in, rolled on top of him, her body over his, and he bit into the orange, gulped it even, made his mouth ready for more, for her, like he’d been starving.”
― Monica Drake, The Folly of Loving Life

“Space is never empty. Emotions have vectors and velocity. You can crush a person from a distance. Sometimes the first weapon is the act or art of pulling away.”
― Monica Drake, The Folly of Loving Life

“I watched the moon through the window. It was a beautiful, floating illusion of a still point in the universe. Dark shadows passed over the plains, mountains and water.”
― Monica Drake, The Folly of Loving Life

“The moon was now paper-thin and fading. That moon was sky-tinged, the way you could see right through it to the blue of the evening light, and it was hung like a damp tissue as though pressed against glass.”
― Monica Drake, The Folly of Loving Life

“When I stand around all day, into the afternoon, I start to feel like a good bike pulled to the curb. I’m every car that’s ever idled, a motorcycle gulping its own exhaust, lurching toward open road. I’m paid to stand, and I get this feeling my body is waiting for my mind to figure out what I’m supposed to do with being alive.”
― Monica Drake, The Folly of Loving Life

“Where we grew up, we didn’t learn how to live. We learned how to bury the land, seal life off. There was an unacknowledged backdrop to being a kid on land that was fast turning into strip malls, when you loved trees and a silent corporate presence kept showing up to knock the trees down. It was the helpless sense that everything you ever loved could be destroyed, without debate.”
― Monica Drake, The Folly of Loving Life

“Come with me, Mack,” I said. “Back to my place.” I tried to pull my hand back. Our fingers were intertwined like those bloody hospital robes. I didn’t mind, even when he scared me a little. The blood that kept us alive was trapped just under our skin, racing through veins. All those cells inside and out were fighting for a way to move closer together, beyond the trap of skin, dependent on breath.”
― Monica Drake, The Folly of Loving Life

“Despair. I’d been told I suffered from it too. The thing was, I never sensed myself in despair, but rather, in love with something I felt closest to only when walking or riding my bike in the city. I felt it when I kept my windows open all night, or sitting on the rickety wood of the porch my landlord called a fire escape, peeled paint flaking under my hands and feet, looking over the empty lot. It had to do with a texture, with the moon and a stray white cat I’d been feeding, a cat that saw me as home now.”
― Monica Drake, The Folly of Loving Life

“Outside the window, one lone car passed and threw a violent blast of rainwater over the sidewalk. It was a storm, by now. Looking at that rain, I was falling deeply in love with our warm bar. What could you do, with a world like that? I was in love with every minute of being alive even as I floundered.”
― Monica Drake, The Folly of Loving Life

“He said, “Only you.” I was alone and he was alone and we had nothing in common short of being human at night.”
― Monica Drake, The Folly of Loving Life

“There is no such thing as a truly single person, only a lonely one. Humans are porous in the borders of our skins, these walking micro cities.”
― Monica Drake, The Folly of Loving Life

“Everything was out in our crowded lawn, really—love, anger and jealousy. History and intimacy. You could breath it in, thick as fog. I wanted to yell, Get out of our yard!”
― Monica Drake, The Folly of Loving Life

“You will be my favorite ex,” I whispered in his ear. “I’ll be your fifth former wife. We’ll mutter crazy dreams together then apart, but you will always be with me.” His breath was warm and so very human, not demonic at all. He said, “Don’t break my nose.” I said, “I won’t even break your heart.”
― Monica Drake, The Folly of Loving Life

“Love is a demon. It would take over, and it would kill us, but first it would keep us all alive.”
― Monica Drake, The Folly of Loving Life