Julia > Recent Status Updates

She knew with total certainty that B. Rusk would take her as his wife if she let him. And she decided right then that she would. Because she saw that he was in essence alone. In his vast solitude she would find hers. And with it the freedom her overbearing parents had always denied her. 1/2

So far very light…

Still figuring it out but saw remarks “a cop you can’t trust” and “the art of pulling out the rug” by chance, intriguing 😅

(Missed them) their warmth, their kindness. He wondered, should he do more of it, human contact? He was not sure

Now he felt as if he were a murderer released only on technicality

And yet again no recollection of why it’s on my list but it’s Irish and the description and reviews (“haunting”) are intriguing so let’s see

The trick was to keep everyone at a distance. He could not forget this

The trick was to keep his distance. The trick was to keep her content with bits of plastic because the things she asked for - love, time - were too much for him to trade now. The trick was to keep things light

(JP) Keep things light and easy, avoid the dark […] The rule was not to care

Clougheally

Интересно, что структура - та же, что и в swing time. Интереснее, потому что не только про молодежь? И по-другому, даже когда про молодёжь? Глубже?

I think glitter suits you. […] I can‘t think of a better symbol of modern pride than an indestructible plastic crap being scattered everywhere.

No smile from Mark. He wasn’t in a mood for banter.

Ruined them. Love or neglect - the effect was the same

There was magic in the air, there had to be. What else would have Mrs. M pulling out her handkerchief again, an item which prior to that day had most likely not been unfolded since the IIWW. She had accepted a medicinal scotch from JP and then another, and then there she was blowing into her handkerchief at the sight of JP and C slow dancing together telling Granny Doyle that Mr. M had been a fine dancer in his day

Mark had met Rosie in the xxx Solidarity camp because Ireland was actually the size of a stamp and whichever deity or geological force was responsible for its tinniness clearly had a malicious intent to ruin Damian Doyle’s life.

And there were many directions that didn’t involve back

2/2 Paper lanterns were hanging from the wires, spheres of vivid orange that blew and trembled in the snow and the thin wind; the sea-grey clouds raced across the sky and the orange lanterns shivered against them.
The Beauty of the House is immeasurable; its Kindness infinite.

I came out of the park. The city streets rose up around me. There was a hotel for the courtyard with metal tables and chairs for people to sit in more clement weather. Today they were snow-strewn and forlorn. A lattice of wire was strung across the courtyard. 1/2

I know that she returns to the labyrinth often. Sometimes we go together; sometimes she goes alone. The quiet and the solitude attract her strongly. In them she hopes to find what she needs.

I tell them what told Jamie Askill: that I was in a house with many rooms; that the sea seeps through the house and that sometimes it swept over me, but always I was safe.
Matthew Rose Sorenson’s mother and father and sisters and friends tell each other that this is a description of a mental breakdown seen from the inside; and explanation they find reasonable, perhaps even reassuring

I remembered how Raphael had wondered which of the People of the Alcove had been murdered and how the simple fact of her posing the question have made the whole World seem a darker, sadder Place.
Perhaps that is what it’s like being with other people. Perhaps even people you like and admire immensely make you see the world in ways you would rather not.

The owners (dull exemplars of the prevailing mediocrity) were…

She’s been selected for the accelerated reading program so she could read about tractors that were crimson rather than plain red

Of course they got on. The two of them were like dogs, eager and affectionate, so ready to please. While Peg was some mean old cat … and longing to do a line of coke in a hotel with some man who’ll never be vulgar enough to disclose who he voted for

Essential part of being John Paul Doyle was learning to live with the black hole inside of him. He had strategies to keep the vortex under control. It was surprisingly easy most of the time. The trick was to keep moving. The trick was to avoid the Doyles. The trick was to keep conversation light.

Another fag, something to keep his hands busy. He wished there were cigarettes for the brain, something that his thoughts could get around and find distraction in. Brain cigarettes. He was going mad.

Even the rain could not break the buzz in the air. Granny Doyle didn’t even bother with her brolly. Nobody in G. or R. would have had their spirits broken by a bit of drizzle

Long ago Mrs Fey had decided that most events can be met with an “Oh dear” or a “lovely” and this she was always ready to temper the world delights or inequities.

Worse, she decided to bring one of your many grandchildren along for the trip. Some ball of fury and flying limbs whose name Peg declined to remember but who might have been as well called “Stop That!” for the number of times Mrs. Newton directed these words at him.