May We Be Forgiven Quotes

“There is a world out there, so new, so random and disassociated that it puts us all in danger. We talk online, we ‘friend’ each other when we don’t know who we are really talking to – we fuck strangers. We mistake almost anything for a relationship, a community of sorts, and yet, when we are with our families, in our communities, we are clueless, we short-circuit and immediately dive back into the digitized version – it is easier, because we can be both our truer selves and our fantasy selves all at once, with each carrying equal weight.”
― A.M. Homes, May We Be Forgiven

“I'm feeling how profoundly my family disappointed me and in the end how I retreated, how I became nothing, because that was much less risky than attempting to be something, to be anything in the face of such contempt.”
― A.M. Homes, May We Be Forgiven

“How can I tell anyone that there has always lived within me a rusty sense of disgust-a dull, brackish water that I suspect is my soul?”
― A.M. Homes, May We Be Forgiven

“Can I ask you, what is your relationship to God?”
“Limited,” I say. “Limited with the exception of spontaneous prayer in times of distress.”
― A.M. Homes, May We Be Forgiven

“My mind leaps to my theory about presidents - that there are two kinds, ones who have a lot of sex and the others who start wars. In short - and don't quote me, because this is an incomplete expression of a more complex premise - I believe blow jobs prevent war.”
― A.M. Homes, May We Be Forgiven

“Was this the big one or was this the small tremor, the warning? Does it get better - does the sensation of being in a dream underwater go away?”
― A.M. Homes, May We Be Forgiven

“The subjects range from the pastoral (sniffing of the butt of a melon to tell if it's ripe. and almost romantically lush descriptions of lightening storms sweeping across fields on summer nights) to elaborations on the value of man's having a life of his own, apart from whatever life he has with his family, a private life that no one knows anything about, "a place he can be himself without concern of disappointment or rejection".”
― A.M. Homes, May We Be Forgiven

“There’s something excruciating about this part. Strangers, or, even worse, friends, crouch at the children’s knees, touching them, hugging them, stressed faces one after another pressing into theirs, faces like caricatures. There is the awkwardness of people feeling the need to say something when there is nothing to say. Nothing.”
― A.M. Homes, May We Be Forgiven

“A guy rubbed against me,” I say. “But I think he was just trying to get by. He rubbed me, then said sorry. It was the ‘sorry’ that made me uncomfortable. The rub was kind of interesting, but when he apologized I felt like a creep because I actually liked it.”
― A.M. Homes, May We Be Forgiven

“Lillian comes out of the kitchen carrying an artefact, the blue metal tin marked Danish Butter Cookies that if I didn't know better I would swear had been in the family for generations - when the Jews left Egypt, they took with them the tins of Danish Butter Cookies. And tins, which as best as I could tell never included Danish Butter Cookies, traveled from house to house, but always, always found their way back to Lillian.”
― A.M. Homes, May We Be Forgiven

“It is three hundred sixty-five days since the warning, three hundred and sixty-five days since Jane pressed against me in the kitchen: me with my fingers deep in the bird; our wet, greasy kiss. It has been a year in full, and still the thought of Jane fills me with heat. I feel myself rise to the occasion. May we be forgiven; it is a prayer, an incantation. May We Be Forgiven.”
― A.M. Homes, May We Be Forgiven

“I do not think of all the misery, but of the glory that remains. Go outside into the fields, nature and the sun, go out and seek happiness in yourself and in God. Think of the beauty that again and again discharges itself within and without you and be happy. “Very nice,” Cy says. “Was that Whitman? Longfellow?” “Anne Frank,” Ashley says.”
― A.M. Homes, May We Be Forgiven

“I do not think of all the misery, but of the glory that remains. Go outside into the fields, nature and the sun, go out and seek happiness in yourself and in God. Think of the beauty that again and again discharges itself within and without you and be happy.”
― A.M. Homes, May We Be Forgiven

“For the first time, I understand that, as much as one might desire change, one has to be willing to take a risk, to free-fall, to fail, and that you’ve got to let go of the past—in other words, I have to finish my book. And then what? Go back to school; study religion, Zulu culture, literature? Become a suburban real-estate agent? This isn’t so much about time on my hands as about life in my hands. And it’s life as currency. Where am I going to spend it? What’s the best value? I’m limited only by what I can dream and allow myself to risk, and by the very real fact of the children—I can’t take off trekking the globe in search of myself. It seems pointless to go on for the sake of going on, if there isn’t some larger idea, some sense of enhancing the lives of others.”
― A.M. Homes, May We Be Forgiven

“The school year is winding down. Ashley shows me the draft of her extended meditation on the death of the soap opera—interwoven with her thoughts on staging Romeo and Juliet at the puppet theater. In her paper, Ashley writes about seeing herself in the characters, how she gets involved in their lives and thinks about them between episodes. I’m surprised at Ashley’s ability to find common ground between soap opera, Shakespeare, and the fine art of puppet theater. She’s got good ideas, but my professorial self kicks in: has anyone ever discussed structure with her? Multiple revisions are required. I share my thoughts, prompting hissy fits that blow through like severe thunderstorms. She storms off, and then ultimately the paper is revised, sometimes slipped under my door in the middle of the night. She wants to do well, and that is a good sign. I pretend I can manage the hysterics—but make a note to myself that, if/when I see Dr. Tuttle again, I need to ask him about the care and management of female adolescents.”
― A.M. Homes, May We Be Forgiven

“As I start to elaborate on my mother’s upcoming wedding, she cuts me off. “I’m really not interested in you as a person,” she says. As hurtful as it sounds, I don’t take it personally. I think she’s lying.”
― A.M. Homes, May We Be Forgiven

“I miss him,” Ashley says at dinner. “Yep,” Nate says. “What are you going to do about it?” Ashley asks. “Well, both of you are heading back to school tomorrow,” I say, thinking that at least buys me some time. “He needs us more than just once in a while,” Nate says. “We want him in our family,” Ash says. “We talked about it.” “Behind my back?” “Yes,” Nate says. “But you realize I’m the one who’d be taking care of him?” “We think you can do it,” Ash says. “He could be our little brother, like a phoenix rising out of the ashes…” Nate says. “Didn’t Ricardo say that he’s allergic to cats?” I ask. “We’ll get rid of the cat,” Ashley says. “I never liked the cat.” “How can you say that? She’s your cat, she just had kittens.…” “I like the cat,” Nate says. “Maybe we can get Ricardo made unallergic,” Ash says. “Maybe the cat could stay out of his room,” Nate says. “Which room is his room?” I ask. “His room is my room,” Nate says, like it’s obvious. “I don’t think I’m ready for a full-time live-at-home child,” I say. “Send him away to school,” Ashley says. “We kill his parents, take him from his family, and send him away to school—it’s starting to sound like an old English novel.” “Is that a bad thing?” Ash asks. “Plus, you two can’t adopt him, you’re underage.…” “But you can,” Ash says, nonplussed. “I am in the middle of a divorce and recently unemployed.” “You quit your job?” Nate asks. “I got fired.” “You got fired?” “Well, not exactly fired. I’ll finish teaching the semester, but, basically, yes.” “And you didn’t tell us?” Nate is shaken. “I didn’t think you needed to know.” “Well, that sucks,” Nate says. “Talk about a lack of trust. What’s the point if you don’t think you can tell us anything? It’s not all about you babysitting us, this is supposed to be some kind of relationship—a two-way street.” “It’s true,” Ash says. “You should tell us things. No one ever told us anything except Mom.” She bursts into tears. “I love the cat,” she says. “I shouldn’t have said I didn’t—I really do.” And she gets up and runs from the table.”
― A.M. Homes, May We Be Forgiven

“I must look surprised, because the children all ask, “What?” “Tessie had kittens,” I say, and they look more confused. “Tessie is a dog,” Ashley says. “You’re right,” I say. And then in the morning, as though everyone but me got the memo, the kids show up to breakfast dressed normally and Nate announces we’re going to Busch Gardens. I’m the last to know.”
― A.M. Homes, May We Be Forgiven

“Every time I look at Ricardo, I blank on his name. It’s further complicated by the fact that he had a name tag on his coat, clearly there for a long time, that says “Hello My Name Is” and “CAMERON” is written in faded black Magic Marker. “Who is Cameron?” I ask. “What do you mean?” “Hello My Name Is CAMERON?” “I guess it was the name of the guy who had the jacket before me,” he says. “Why do you keep it on there?” “I like it,” he says. “I call the coat Cameron.”
― A.M. Homes, May We Be Forgiven

“Sometimes it can’t be helped,” the doctor says. “But you’re okay. You’ll be going home soon. Are there any questions?” “Can I fuck?” There’s a loud pause. “I worry that taking my brother’s Viagra is what caused this ‘incident.’” “How so?” “I was taking a good amount of the stuff and, well, I worry I blew a fuse, so to speak.” “I don’t think so, but it’s an interesting idea. I’ll make a note of it.” “And so can I fuck? Can I take Viagra? Or Levitra, or whatever the hell comes next?” “I’d give it a rest,” the doctor says. “How long of a rest?” “Let’s say, if you are able to get an erection on your own, with no assistance, fine, but if you get a headache or feel ill, stop. If you can’t get an erection, which you may not be able to after an event such as this—not permanently, but for the short term—I’d lay off the hard stuff—no pun intended. It’s about how much risk you’re willing to tolerate. I’ve known men who after an event like this were terrified, they couldn’t even think of trying to have sex. Others try again right here in the hospital—they say it’s a ‘safe’ environment, but you didn’t hear that from me. That’s off the record, of course.” “Of course,” I say. “And of course the question is hypothetical. The truth is, I’m terrified, I’m suddenly terrified of everything. I can’t imagine taking the pills again, I can’t imagine ever wanting to have sex.”
― A.M. Homes, May We Be Forgiven

“Like all modern courthouses, this one is a characterless fortress, testament to paper pushing, bureaucracy, and the incipient insanity of our system. Going postal is no longer reserved for those who pledge that “Neither rain nor snow nor gloom of night would deter its couriers from their appointed rounds.” It’s become a kind of rite of passage: disgruntled employee returns and shoots boss, disgruntled wife kills kids, disgruntled husband wrecks car, kills strangers, and then kills wife. Hard not to be surprised, when the bulk of public conversation goes like this: “Paper or plastic?” The loss of the human touch scares me.”
― A.M. Homes, May We Be Forgiven

“What I have learned this year is that the job of parent is to help the child become the person he or she already is.”
― A.M. Homes, May We Be Forgiven

“Look at the Presidents all in a row and it makes sense: they are a psychological progression from one to another, all about the unspoken needs and desires and conflicts of the American people.”
― A.M. Homes, May We Be Forgiven

“Nixon said, with full conviction, “Well, when the President does it, that means that it is not illegal.”
― A.M. Homes, May We Be Forgiven

“Is contentment death? Does one need to want in order to live?”
― A.M. Homes, May We Be Forgiven

“A minute after I post it, a woman e-mails, “I know you.” “Doubtful.” “No, really,” she says. “Happy to chat, but trust me no one knows me.” “Photo for photo,” she says. “Okay,” I say, and it feels like a game of cards—Go Fish. I search George’s computer and find a photo of him on vacation, fishing pole in hand. I upload it. She sends a photo of her shaved crotch. “I don’t think we’re on the same page,” I type back. “George,” she writes, terrifying me. “?,” I type. “I used to work for you. I heard about the accident.” “I don’t follow,” I type, full well knowing exactly what she’s talking about. “I’m Daddy’s little girl. We pretend Mommy’s gone out. You ask to check my homework. I bring it to your office 18th Floor 30 Rockefeller Plaza. I do whatever you tell me to—I never disobey Daddy. You ask me to suck your cock, tell me it tastes like cookie dough. You’re right. And then I bend over your desk, my breasts sweeping pens off your blotter while you have me from behind. The office door is open, you like the possibility that someone might walk in.” “Tell me more,” I type.”
― A.M. Homes, May We Be Forgiven

“Given the circumstances, I think the rabbi did a very good job. What did you think?”
“It's my policy not to review funerals.”
― A.M. Homes, May We Be Forgiven