Life #6 Quotes

“I know her. The skin so young and flawless, the eyes so bright. I hated her then. For thirty years I loathed her and felt guilty about the things she did. But thirty years is long enough. It is time for her to recognize her mistakes and be done with guilt. It doesn't help. It won't fix anything. I look at these photos and now I love her, her paleness, her messy hair, fleshy thighs and all. She is not a monster. She is not dumb, thoughtless, or bad. She is just a girl. I wish I could put my arms around her, comfort her and tell her it will be all right. It hurts me to see how much she needs someone to reassure her. So much time she has wasted and will waste worrying, trying to please, being afraid.

I hear the voice in her head. It is the same voice that speaks in mine. It is my voice. Survive, it says. What else can you do? Survive.”
― Diana Wagman, Life #6

“All these years I was miserable because I was the one who had been dumped, left, thrown over for a city and a drug he couldn't resist. I remembered his face clearly, his nostrils flared and his lips in a sneer. "Go," he had said, "I don't want you here. Go back to school or whatever. Go now." I didn't remember the pirouettes or the swing or the Chinese waiter, but I clearly remembered his disgust. For thirty years I had wiggled the loose tooth of his disdain. For thirty years I had berated myself for not staying and putting up with it--trying to help him even though he was done with me. And for thirty years I knew I was the one whose heart was broken. I had only that minuscule speck of comfort. I had loved him more than he had loved me. It was my only talent. What would it mean if all these years I'd gotten it wrong?”
― Diana Wagman, Life #6

“Before I left, I'd done some research, seen the websites that said people get cancer for a reason. We do it with our pessimism, our frustration and anger and fear actually cause our cells to revolt. According to those websites--according to Luc--I had made myself sick by feeling bad all those years about him and the boat and Doug. How else would he explain it? I didn't drink much. I had never smoked cigarettes. I ate organic vegetables. And I thought good thoughts most of the time about my coworkers, my high school tour groups, even Harry. It was worrying about what I'd done to Luc that kept me up at night. Luc and Doug. How would he explain Doug's cancer? Harry would say Luc was an idiot. A fucking idiot. I smiled.”
― Diana Wagman, Life #6

“She didn't hear anything except a muted fuzzy silence. It was the first time in days and days she hadn't heard the ocean and the rain and the wind. She closed her eyes. Quiet. That would have been enough. For the scientist to have given her this minute of peace would have been enough. Then she heard a coo. Another longer coo, sliding from high to low. Oh, it was saying. Oh. Is it you? In answer came more ghostly, plaintive calls. The dolphins sang to each other. The songs pierced her chest like hot sticks, each call sharper than the last. She hoped Doug could hear them. She began to cry.”
― Diana Wagman, Life #6