Here They Come Quotes

“You will always see less as you grow older, otherwise you would not want to go on.”
― Yannick Murphy, Here They Come

“We dream of him and in the morning we tell each other our dreams where he is living with us again, fixing salads, whistling, standing in doorways. Our mother tells us there was a time before they thought to marry when he wrote her every day, long letters with a date and a time in the upper right corner, the hour always late and the pages sometimes stained purple by wine that had spilled as he lifted the glass and drank while he wrote … Our mother says not to throw the letters out, they are all that’s left of the love she’ll never feel again.”
― Yannick Murphy, Here They Come

“Get the moon to phase with you. The tide to lap at your door. Call it Rose or Aunty, but never what it is.”
― Yannick Murphy, Here They Come

“But she is not looking down, but looking up maybe, some kind of fortune teller who can read futures in passing dark clouds.”
― Yannick Murphy, Here They Come

“… but she sits almost asleep, her head drooping to the left, out toward the sky, as if the sky were some stranger’s shoulder to lean upon throughout a trip on a train.”
― Yannick Murphy, Here They Come

“My mother still thinks of things to do for him. Light church candles, name a star, send money to somewhere.”
― Yannick Murphy, Here They Come

“I look at his bloodshot eyes and wonder if it affects what he sees, everything covered by a veil of red lace that his hands can’t ever lift.”
― Yannick Murphy, Here They Come

“She looks like what fishermen don’t want after hours spent cutting debris out of their nets.”
― Yannick Murphy, Here They Come

“… she looks at herself, at her bloodshot eyes, the small veins like red scattered roads and branching streams.”
― Yannick Murphy, Here They Come

“Her fingers are still cool, like ivory on piano keys and they are that pale and he looks at her face, drawn and pale too.”
― Yannick Murphy, Here They Come

“If caught wearing white and you stain, stand and spread out your skirt, let the boys read into it shapes like blots of ink.”
― Yannick Murphy, Here They Come