Au Revoir Quotes

Au revoir, jewelled alligators and white hotels, hallucinatory forests, farewell.

For Sayonara, literally translated, 'Since it must be so,' of all the good-bys I have heard is the most beautiful. Unlike the Auf Wiedershens and Au revoirs, it does not try to cheat itself by any bravado 'Till we meet again,' any sedative to postpone the pain of separation. It does not evade the issue like the sturdy blinking Farewell. Farewell is a father's good-by. It is - 'Go out in the world and do well, my son.' It is encouragement and admonition. It is hope and faith. But it passes over the significance of the moment; of parting it says nothing. It hides its emotion. It says too little. While Good-by ('God be with you') and Adios say too much. They try to bridge the distance, almost to deny it. Good-by is a prayer, a ringing cry. 'You must not go - I cannot bear to have you go! But you shall not go alone, unwatched. God will be with you. God's hand will over you' and even - underneath, hidden, but it is there, incorrigible - 'I will be with you; I will watch you - always.' It is a mother's good-by. But Sayonara says neither too much nor too little. It is a simple acceptance of fact. All understanding of life lies in its limits. All emotion, smoldering, is banked up behind it. But it says nothing. It is really the unspoken good-by, the pressure of a hand, 'Sayonara.

Goodbye,” Mort said, and was surprised to find a lump in his throat. “It’s such an unpleasant word, isn’t it?” QUITE SO. Death grinned because, as has so often been remarked, he didn’t have much option. But possibly he meant it, this time. I PREFER AU REVOIR, he said.

Well, au revoir, one and all.

I can't dance, remember?" I whispered. "It's just a tango. It is like sex, except with clothes on." Then, squeezing me closer: "Oh, I'm sorry. I forgot, you do not know how to do that either.

How about we just go with sayonara then?” Graham laughed. “Or au revoir.” “Arrivederci.” “Hasta la vista, baby,” he said, and then he stepped forward and kissed her again, sending a shiver through her in spite of the warmth of the early-morning sun.

Non cercate di interagire. Sono solo un cilindro musicale. Per servirvi. Au revoir.

There is a symbiotic desire to get closer and closer, to enter the self of what is being drawn, and, simultaneously, there is the foreknowledge of immanent distance. Such drawings aspire to be both a secret rendezvous and an au revoir! Alternately and ad infinitum.

Elle les avait démasqués de loin, les petits ambitieux qui la trouvait banale vue de face, mais très jolie vue de dot.

Speaking of novels,’ I said, ‘you remember we decided once, you, your husband and I, that Proust’s rough masterpiece was a huge, ghoulish fairy tale, an asparagus dream, totally unconnected with any possible people in any historical France, a sexual travestissement and a colossal farce, the vocabulary of genius and its poetry, but no more, impossibly rude hostesses, please let me speak, and even ruder guests, mechanical Dostoevskian rows and Tolstoian nuances of snobbishness repeated and expanded to an unsufferable length, adorable seascapes, melting avenues, no, do not interrupt me, light and shade effects rivaling those of the greatest English poets, a flora of metaphors, described—by Cocteau, I think—as “a mirage of suspended gardens,” and, I have not yet finished, an absurd, rubber-and-wire romance between a blond young blackguard (the fictitious Marcel), and an improbable jeune fille who has a pasted-on bosom, Vronski’s (and Lyovin’s) thick neck, and a cupid’s buttocks for cheeks; but—and now let me finish sweetly—we were wrong, Sybil, we were wrong in denying our little beau ténébreux the capacity of evoking “human interest”: it is there, it is there—maybe a rather eighteenth-centuryish, or even seventeenth-centuryish, brand, but it is there. Please, dip or redip, spider, into this book [offering it], you will find a pretty marker in it bought in France, I want John to keep it. Au revoir, Sybil, I must go now. I think my telephone is ringing.

La capacité au bonheur se travaille, se muscle jour après jour. Il suffit de revoir son système de valeurs, de rééduquer le regard qu’on porte sur la vie et les événements.

It is only when memory is filtered through imagination that the films we make will have real depth.

Mais Colin ne savait pas, il courait, il avait peur, pourquoi ça ne suffit pas de toujours rester ensemble, il faut encore qu’on ait peur, peut-être est-ce un accident, une auto l’a écrasée, elle serait sur son lit, je ne pourrais la voir, ils m’empêcheraient d’entrer, mais vous croyez donc peut-être que j’ai peur de ma Chloé, je la verrai malgré vous, mais non, Colin, n’entre pas. Elle est peut-être blessée, seulement, alors, il n’y aura rien du tout, demain, nous irons ensemble au Bois, pour revoir le banc, j’avais sa main dans la mienne et ses cheveux près des miens, son parfum sur l’oreiller. Je prends toujours son oreiller, nous nous battrons encore le soir, le mien, elle le trouve trop bourré, il reste tout rond sous sa tête, et moi, je le reprends après, il sent l’odeur de ses cheveux.

She had three seconds in which to decide whether to be rich or spend the rest of her life as a housemaid. She only needed one.

you need to put aside your own selfish motives and consider other people for a change.

Human beings are like the screwed-up children of alcoholic parents in that way, picking up the pieces afterward and trying to make up reasons why.

God may forgive you if He chooses, but not I. Au revoir.

Les au revoir font encore plus de mal quand l'autre est déjà parti.

Au revoir, mon ami,” he said, beginning to cry harder. “Je t’aime, mon petit.

Au revoir, mages.

Voilà, décide-t-il, à quoi devrait ressembler un « au revoir ». Pas à un point final, mais à des points de suspension, une phrase inachevée jusqu’au prochain paragraphe. Une porte laissée ouverte. Une plongée dans le sommeil.

He did not smile, he was neither grave, nor vindictive, nor sad; he was still. He was waiting, I think, for me to cross the space and take him in my arms again - waiting, as one waits at a deathbed for the miracle one dare not disbelieve, which will not happen. I had to get out of there for my face showed too much, the war in my body was dragging me down. My feet refused to carry me over to him again. The wind of my life was blowing me away. 'Au revoir, Giovanni.' 'Au revoir, mon cher.

I had to leave Paris the next morning. As always I would wonder why and start counting the days before I could go back. And then lose count and be lost again in the life that, by some strange twist of fate, I lived somewhere else. Au revoir Paris. Bonjour tristesse.

C'était donc cela mourir ? Revoir sa vie en accéléré, comme on jette un dernier coup d’œil à la pièce que l'on quitte afin de vérifier que l'on n'a rien oublié ? Vérifier que l'on n'a rien oublié. Au prix d'un effort inouï, elle redressa la tête , l’appuya contre le tronc du bouleau. Elle avait revue sa vie mais pas toute sa vie. Il lui manquait le final, les plus belles années. Les années de plénitude. La mort pouvait bien attendre quelques minutes, non ?

Human beings are like the screwed-up children of alcoholic parents in that way, picking up the pieces afterward and trying to make up reasons why. You could argue that’s what makes us interesting, and maybe it is to some alien race studying us from a million miles away. From where I sit it just seems pathetic and sad.

Labourdin concoctait des phrases avec des syllabes, rarement avec des idées.

I should have been paying closer attention.” “You did the best you could ,” she said. “You are not a warrior, Perry, any more than I am a foreign exchange student.

Il continuait à trembler, sa peur était irrationnelle, imperméable à toute raison.

Seuls les poissons morts suivent le courant' - Only dead fish follow the current

- Det finns ju inga garantier. Att satsa allt man har på något som är utan garantier det...Det är svårt

They're much the same, the enemy, the war, the bureaucracy, the army, they're all things that no-one understands, and no-one can stop.

Those who thought that this war would be over quickly are all dead. Of the war, of course.

Books and people happen to you. And when they do, let them.

C’est totalement absurde les rappels . Enfin, écoutez, dans la vie normale, dans la vie courante, quand un type a fini son boulot, qu’est-ce qu’il fait ? Il dit au revoir, et il s’en va. Voilà. Il ne revient pas : enfin, on n’imagine pas un plombier, par exemple, re-sonnant à la porte, après avoir réparé une fuite, juste pour refiler un petit coup de clé de douze.

Au moment de nous quitter, nous choisissions de ne pas dire un mot, d’être dans le silence. Il y a une étreinte, un regard. Il n’y a pas de baiser, pas d’au revoir. Il y a juste ton corps en partance et le mien qui reste. Il y a les battements de ton coeur qui s’accélèrent et les miens qui ralentissent. Il y a l’effroi. Il y a le temps derrière nous, et le temps devant nous. Il y a la tendresse qui se brise.

Why don’t you just tell him what he wants to know?” “I do not like bullies. And I have never responded well to threats of force.”She paused. “Also, I believe he will kill me anyway.” “Why?” “Because that is what he does.

Sometimes you just need people to be there and do nothing. This 'do nothing' part is hard for people to understand. They are compelled to talk, touch, pacify, hug, or soothe you. That's rather sweet per se, but that's not something someone wants at all times is all.

Un nouveau résident pour mon cimetière. Un homme de cinquante-cinq ans, mort d’avoir trop fumé. Enfin, ça, c’est qu’ont dit les médecins. Ils ne disent jamais qu’un homme de cinquante-cinq ans peut mourir de ne pas avoir été aimé, de ne pas avoir été entendu, d’avoir reçu trop de factures, d’avoir contracté trop de crédits à la consommation, d’avoir vu ses enfants grandir et puis partir, sans vraiment dire au revoir. Une vie de reproches, une vie de grimaces. Alors sa petite clope et son petit canon pour noyer la boule au ventre, il les aimait bien. On ne dit jamais qu’on peut mourir d’en avoir eu trop souvent marre.

You are never going to stop me from achieving my goal, Perry. You ought to know that by now. Do you wish to know the definition of a tragic hero?”“Not particularly.”“A tragic hero is an individual who, with every attempt to restore things to normal, only pushes himself further away from normalcy.”She nodded. “That is you, Perry.

Je les ai rejoints pour leur dire au revoir, et le visage de Gatsby reflétait de nouveau une stupeur éperdue, comme s'il mettait en doute l'essence même de ce bonheur trop neuf. Près de cinq ans! Et par moments peut-être au cours de cette après-midi Daisy s'était-elle montrée inférieure à ses rêves — mais elle n'était pas fautive. Cela tenait à la colossale vigueur de son aptitude à rêver. Il l'avait projetée au-delà de Daisy, au-delà de tout. Il s'y était voué lui-même avec une passion d'inventeur, modifiant, amplifiant, décorant ses chimères de la moindre parure scintillante qui passait à sa portée. Ni le feu ni la glace ne sauraient atteindre en intensité ce qu'enferme un homme dans les illusions de son cœur.

In the imaginative movement which prompts the impulse to draw repeats implicitly the same pattern...there is a symbiotic desire to get closer and closer, to enter the self of what is being drawn, and, simultaneously, there is the foreknowledge of immanent distance. Such drawings aspire to be both a secret rendezvous and a au-revoir! Alternately and at infinitum.

La fenêtre est ouverte et la brise de juin agite doucement l'ourlet des rideaux de dentelle. Une légère odeur de marée flotte dans l'air. Je sens le sable du rivage entre mes doigts. Je m'éloigne de la table, m'approche d'Oshima et le serre fort contre moi. Le contact de son corps mince éveille déjà en moi une terrible nostalgie. Il me caresse doucement les cheveux. - Le monde est une métaphore, Kafka Tamura, dit-il à mon oreille. Mais pour toi et moi, seule cette bibliothèque n'est pas une métaphore. Aussi loin qu'on aille ... elle reste tout simplement cette bibliothèque. - Naturellement, dis-je. - C'est une bibliothèque unique, speciale et tres solide. Rien d'autre ne peut prendre sa place. Je hoche la tête. - Au revoir, Kafka Tamura. - Au revoir, Oshima-san. Vous avez une belle cravate, vous savez. Il s'écarte de moi, me regarde bien en face en souriant. - Je me demandais si tu allais m'en faire la remarque.

—Madame, répliqua le comte en lui prenant les deux mains, tout ce que vous me diriez ne vaudra jamais ce que je lis dans vos yeux, ce que votre cœur a pensé, ce que le mien a ressenti. Comme les bienfaiteurs de roman, j'eusse dû partir sans vous revoir; mais cette vertu était au-dessus de mes forces, parce que je suis un homme faible et vaniteux, parce que le regard humide, joyeux et tendre de mes semblables me fait du bien. Maintenant je pars, et je pousse l'égoïsme jusqu'à vous dire: Ne m'oubliez pas, mes amis, car probablement vous ne me reverrez jamais.

Je me dis : si tu dois parler, parle, et viens-en immédiatement au fait, sans points de suspension. Du coup, lorsque des dialogues en réclament – car c’est surtout là qu’ils s’imposent –, je fais tout mon possible pour les éviter et, si je n’y parviens vraiment pas, je préfère les réduire de trois à un, interrompant brusquement le discours. Je privilégie « j’aimerais te revoir, mais. » plutôt que « j’aimerais te revoir, mais… ». Il faut payer le prix d’une phrase tronquée et supporter sa laideur si l’on veut apprendre à aller toujours, au moins avec les mots, droit au but.

J’ai une très grande expérience des séparations, je sais mieux que personne leur danger : quitter quelqu’un en se promettant qu’on va se revoir, cela présage les choses les plus graves. Le cas le plus fréquent, c’est qu’on ne revoit pas l’individu en question. Et ce n’est pas la pire éventualité. La pire consiste à revoir la personne et à ne pas la reconnaître, soit qu’elle ait réellement beaucoup changé, soit qu’on lui découvre alors un aspect incroyablement déplaisant qui devait exister déjà mais sur lequel on avait réussi à s’aveugler, au nom de cette étrange forme d’amour si mystérieuse, si dangereuse et dont l’enjeu échappe toujours : l’amitié.

Je m'appelle Gaëlle, j'ai trente-quatre ans, j'ai un gros cul, je suis assistante dans la com', je m'éclate dans mon boulot, je suis super-pro et je ne supporte pas les incompétents. Tous les matins, je prends mon métro à Ledru-Rollin, je lis les gratuits, je me sape chez Zadig & Voltaire, je fais des régimes au printemps, je vote à gauche ou à droite, ça dépend, j'ai les pieds bien sur terre, j'aime pas revoir mes ex, le passé c'est le passé, j'aime pas trop le théâtre, je préfère le ciné, je m'engueule souvent avec ma mère, je me pose pas trop de questions, j'aime pas les gens prise de tête, je lis les bouquins d'Amélie Nothomb et la Star Ac', ça me fait marrer.

I dreamed about you sometimes. In my dreams we were walking down Tenth Avenue together in the dark. You hadn’t been shot after all, and we were both all right. I asked you if you were done, and you said yes, it was finished. In my dreams the streetlights all went off as we walked past them, but I could still see perfectly clearly to the corner. There was heat and light pouring out of you like a lantern, shining down the sidewalk in front of us, filling the intersection with amazing white light. When I reached for your hand you let me keep it there and smiled. You kissed me one more time. In my dreams I always knew that meant that I was about to wake up. The light spilling out of your face and eyes and skin blazed up higher, and you said you had to go. You said it had to be this way. You said you were a goddess of fire. Life went on. It always did, and that summer was no exception.

I’m not helping you kill anybody else. It’s just not happening. I’m done.”“What makes you think you have a choice?”“You know why? I’ll tell you. Because we were just kissing in the street, and deep down, I don’t believe you could actually blow up my house or kill my sister. I just don’t, and she’s probably not even in the house anymore anyway, so if you want to go in there and shoot somebody, fine, but you’re on your own.”Gobi paused, seeming to consider all of this. “What is it that you want to hear from me, Perry? Do you want me to tell you that these are bad people that I am killing tonight? Because they are. They are very bad people. They deserve to die, each and every one of them.”“Nobody deserves to die.”“Oh, really?”“Okay, I mean, maybe people like Hitler and Pol Pot . . . dictators, tyrants, African warlords who starve their people into submission . . . but that guy at the bar wasn’t an evil man.”“How do you know? Because he had drinks with Hemingway?”“I just know.

JEANNE ENDORMIE. -- I LA SIESTE Elle fait au milieu du jour son petit somme; Car l'enfant a besoin du rêve plus que l'homme, Cette terre est si laide alors qu'on vient du ciel ! L'enfant cherche à revoir Chérubin, Ariel, Ses camarades, Puck, Titania, les fées, Et ses mains quand il dort sont par Dieu réchauffées. Oh ! comme nous serions surpris si nous voyions, Au fond de ce sommeil sacré, plein de rayons, Ces paradis ouverts dans l'ombre, et ces passages D'étoiles qui font signe aux enfants d'être sages, Ces apparitions, ces éblouissements ! Donc, à l'heure où les feux du soleil sont calmants, Quand toute la nature écoute et se recueille, Vers midi, quand les nids se taisent, quand la feuille La plus tremblante oublie un instant de frémir, Jeanne a cette habitude aimable de dormir; Et la mère un moment respire et se repose, Car on se lasse, même à servir une rose. Ses beaux petits pieds nus dont le pas est peu sûr Dorment; et son berceau, qu'entoure un vague azur Ainsi qu'une auréole entoure une immortelle, Semble un nuage fait avec de la dentelle; On croit, en la voyant dans ce frais berceau-là, Voir une lueur rose au fond d'un falbala; On la contemple, on rit, on sent fuir la tristesse, Et c'est un astre, ayant de plus la petitesse; L'ombre, amoureuse d'elle, a l'air de l'adorer; Le vent retient son souffle et n'ose respirer. Soudain, dans l'humble et chaste alcôve maternelle, Versant tout le matin qu'elle a dans sa prunelle, Elle ouvre la paupière, étend un bras charmant, Agite un pied, puis l'autre, et, si divinement Que des fronts dans l'azur se penchent pour l'entendre, Elle gazouille...-Alors, de sa voix la plus tendre, Couvrant des yeux l'enfant que Dieu fait rayonner, Cherchant le plus doux nom qu'elle puisse donner À sa joie, à son ange en fleur, à sa chimère: -Te voilà réveillée, horreur ! lui dit sa mère.

The future treaty which you are discussing has no chance of being agreed; if it was agreed it has no chance of being ratified; and if it were ratified, it would have no chance of being applied. And if it was applied, it would be totally unacceptable to Britain. You speak of agriculture which we don’t like, of power over customs, which we take exception to, and institutions, which frighten us. Monsieur le president, messieurs, au revoir et bonne chance.6

SAYONARA FOR NOW Sayonara for now Though it's been a short while Maybe we will meet again somehow Spelling off all the nasty vile Adieu for now The forlorn April has been stupendous Maybe our role in your life's play ends with a bow Arigatu for teaching someone like us ignoramus Au revoir for now Your influence shall be in our memories now Maybe we won't ever forget thou Hopefully, we will fullfill that vow anyhow

Je refuse de me lever et d'affronter cette journée. Parce que cela voudra dire que ma meilleure amie est définitivement partie. Et je ne veux pas lui dire au revoir. Pas dans une église gelée, remplie de gens en pleurs. Je ne veux pas que chaque vendredi soit à jamais marqué par l'image d'un cercueil fermé. C'est au-dessus de mes forces.

—¿Qué me estás proponiendo? —Un retrato del mundo industrial en el Tercer Mundo —dijo Fate—, un aide-mémoire de la situación actual de México, una panorámica de la frontera, un relato policial de primera magnitud, joder. —¿Un aide-mémoire? —dijo el jefe de sección—. ¿Eso es francés, negro? ¿Desde cuándo sabes tú francés? —No sé francés —dijo Fate—, pero sé lo que es un jodido aide-mémoire. —Yo también sé lo que es un puto aide-mémoire —dijo el jefe de sección—, y también sé lo que significa merci y au revoir y faire l’amour. Lo mismo que coucher avec moi, ¿recuerdas esa canción?, voulez-vous coucher avec moi, ce soir? Y creo que tú, negro, quieres coucher avec moi, pero sin decir antes voulez-vous, que en este caso es primordial. ¿Lo has entendido? Tienes que decir voulez-vous y si no lo dices te jodes.

–Et si je me mettais dans la cage, dit Turandot, et que ce soit Laverdure qui me porte ? [...] –Alors au revoir, les gars ! dit Laverdure. –Tu causes, tu causes, dit Turandot, c’est tout ce que tu sais faire. Et ils s’envolèrent dans la direction Bastille

It must happen all the time. All around the world, every day, in every country, people must say a cheery goodbye or au revoir or auf wiedersehen to a loved one, with no inkling that it was the last time they would be able to do so. It was probably a good thing; if we knew how close disaster was, if we worried that each goodbye would be the last, we would never do anything. We'd be paralysed by fear.

Le pays tout entier était saisi d'une fureur commémorative en faveur des morts, proportionnelle à sa répulsion vis-à-vis des survivants.

Même les grandes joies vous laissent un peu de regret, il y a un fond de manque dans tout ce qu'on vit.

It never mattered how low I felt, someone at the ALP always managed to scoop me up and put me on an even keel. The Library was more than bricks and books; its mortar was people who cared. I’d spent time in other libraries, with their hard wooden chairs and their polite “Bonjour, Mademoiselle. Au revoir, Mademoiselle.” There was nothing wrong with these bibliothèques, they simply lacked the camaraderie of real community. The Library felt like home.

-Je suis venu pour vous dire au revoir, à toi et à ta sœur. -Tu pars où ? -Loin. -Et tu reviens quand ? -Je ne sais pas. -Mais pourquoi ? -Parce que je veux changer le monde. Pour qu'il soit meilleur. Pour ta sœur et toi. -Mais maman, mon monde, c'est toi.

Ingen ser oss. Och om nån gör det, låt dem!

känner mig rebellisk. River av headsetet och slänger det i en buske...Eller vänta. Det där var inte rebelliskt det var fånigt bara. Jag backar tillbaka, kryper in i busken, hämtar ut det satans headsetet och stoppar det i väskan. Man behöver ju inte skräpa ner i den lilla natur som Sollentuna har bara för att man är revolutionär.

Aa, så är det alltså. Söder är på den här sidan så era snoppar pekar alltså...Vidare, söder ut!

Il n’y a qu’ainsi, avons-nous dit, que deux jeunes écrivains, devenus amis et sur le point de s’élancer dans l’inconnu, pouvaient convenablement se dire au revoir.

Personne ne dit au revoir sans avoir envie de vous revoir

« Comment dit-on au revoir, Lani ? » Est-ce qu’il fallait que ce soit dans la joie, dans la tristesse ? Est-ce qu’un au revoir était forcément triste ? Forcément la fin de quelque chose ?

L’espace d’un instant, Hen eut une frayeur et crut s’évanouir. Sa vision se troubla, ses jambes semblèrent emportées par un torrent. Elle se ressaisit. Ce n’est sûrement qu’une coïncidence, se dit-elle en s’avançant pour lire l’inscription sur la base du trophée : TROISIÈME PLACE ÉPÉE, puis en plus petites lettres, quelque chose comme OLYMPIADES JUNIOR, suivi d’une date qu’elle n’arrivait pas à déchiffrer. Hen n’osait pas s’approcher. Se retournant, elle demanda à Matthew, d’une voix qu’elle espérait normale : — Vous faites de l’escrime ? — Grands dieux, non, répondit-il. Le trophée m’a plu, tout simplement. Je l’ai acheté dans un vide-grenier. — Ça va, Hen ? demanda Lloyd en lui lançant un regard inquiet. Tu es un peu pâle. — Oui, oui, ça va. Je crois que je suis simplement fatiguée. Les deux couples se retrouvèrent de nouveau dans le vestibule pour se dire au revoir. Hen sentit le sang refluer à son visage. C’était juste un trophée d’escrime… comme il doit y en avoir des milliers, songeait-elle tout en les félicitant pour le dîner et en les remerciant pour la visite. Lloyd, la main sur la poignée de la porte, attendait de pouvoir s’échapper. Mira se glissa entre eux et embrassa Hen sur la joue pendant que, derrière elle, Matthew les saluait en souriant. Hen s’imaginait peut-être des choses, mais il lui sembla qu’il ne la quittait pas des yeux.

This world’s a funny place and it only gets funnier the longer you live in it.

I could already hear the music inside, the murmur of people, kids I’d gone to school with for the last twelve years, dressed up and pretending to be the adults we’d all eventually turn into, whether we wanted to or not.

I got the sense that she was wired into the night itself, aware of every fluctuation of electricity and sound, the reflections in glass and steel.

Party guests, the very rich and their friends, had broken off into special little subcommittees of twos and threes. I saw a couple kissing on a Persian rug next to a coffee table full of red plastic cups, having reached a moment of perfect invisibility. Nobody cared that they were there. The party had reached the point at which the rules weren’t in effect anymore.

I put down the stack of pages and turned around to face him directly, just as he’d always taught me to do once I realized I was in for a fight.

Men are swine.”“Not all of us

What is the matter, Perry? Do you feel exploited.?”“I liked you better when you were this geeky quiet exchange student.”“Well, perhaps I liked you better when you just shut your mouth and stared at my chest,”she said, “but we cannot always get what we want in this world.

Teardrop Tattoo locked eyes with me, and I saw my own death reflected there. It was not heroic or meaningful or even particularly interesting, just bloody, painful, awkward, and agonizing.

Now it was brisk and didactic, like that of an obedience instructor training an obstinant dog, and I hated him for it, the hate momentarily eclipsing all fear and reason.

Everyone warned me against continuing my investigation,”Gobi continued. “They said the people I was going up against were too powerful. I did not care. They said I would die. Again, I did not care. I knew that my life would mean nothing if I did not come back to avenge my sister’s honor. But by the time I was able to pinpoint who had taken her here, it was too late. She had died.” I tried to say something, but my throat was too dry. For a second I couldn’t even swallow. My chest felt so tight that it ached, and I thought if I didn’t say something, or at least try to, I was going to explode.

You do not know me, Perry.”“No, I guess not.”“Perhaps by the end of the evening you will.”I looked at her. What was that supposed to mean? Ever since her comment about blood, I realized I’d been thinking about Sissy Spacek in Carrie, the high school loser in her homemade prom dress, drenched in pig blood, unleashing a firestorm of psychokinetic destruction on the high school gym ... The distress must have shown on my face, because for the first time ever, Gobi actually laughed. Her eyes sparkled, a bright and glinting green behind her glasses, and for an instant the light transformed her entire face—the bland, expressionless mask slipped away to reveal an actual girl underneath: feminine, uninhibited, spontaneous, and alive. It occurred to me that I might have been missing something this whole time.

She wasn’t invisible anymore. She’d stepped dead-bang into the spotlight, and she’d painted a big bull’s-eye on her head.

I need to fix my makeup.”I realized she probably just wanted a chance to compose herself. Maybe she just wanted to slip away completely. After what just happened, I couldn’t blame her. Hell, maybe I’d get lucky and we could end this whole thing now.

She was smiling at me again, the way she had when we’d first arrived at the prom, but now more challenging, not quite playful. “I see you, the way he talks to you. He runs your life.”Her voice dropped into a cruelly accurate imitation of my dad’s stentorian tone. “Perry, you need to work harder. This is not acceptable. You will never get into Columbia with grades like these. How will you succeed in life?”I felt my internal temperature rise past my lips, cheeks, and forehead. “That’s not true.”“He tells you to do something, you do it. You spend your whole life afraid you will somehow disappoint him. And that is no way to live.”“Look,”I said, “I’m sorry, but you don’t know me that well. I mean, maybe you’ve lived in our house for a while, but you don’t know anything about how it really is with us.

Keeping the gun pointed at her, I flipped the safety off. All at once I could hear the noise of the city, the traffic pulsing on the expressway, the subways roaring under the sidewalks, millions of people out talking and driving around, living their lives. I smelled coffee and cigarettes and perfume and wet trees, tasted it in the air. It was all incredibly alive, like my heart and lungs working on overload, resonating in my chest and pounding through my skull.

You should consider traveling, spending some time seeing the world. It’s best when you’re young.

At first I didn’t think I’d even be able to play—I had way too much going on in my mind—but to my profound surprise, my fingers didn’t seem to care. Apparently if you wanted to rock, it didn’t matter if you had explosives in the basement, or a father with a chronic problem with keeping his dick in his pants, or a crazed ex-Blackwater employee with some religious conviction for ripping your head off. Hell, it might have helped.

Maybe not to you, but it matters to me.”“That is not what I mean.”She turned to face me. “I saw you with your father at that club. All he has to do is tell you to stop, and just like that you give up your dreams, like poof, like they were nothing.”“We were good up there.”Gobi smiled at me. She had the strangest way of doing that at odd moments. “You were better than good, Perry. You were great.”“Thanks.”“It is just a pity that you cannot stand up for what you love.”“What, like killing people for money?”Gobi stiffened. A flat, dispassionate mask clamped over her face, and her voice went flat.

It is safer with me.”“Forget it,”I said. “I’m still not going in.”“Then you are being very stupid.”“I got twenty-two hundred on my SATs,”I said. “How stupid is that?”“Stupid enough not to realize when someone cares about you.”“Meaning what, exactly?”She looked at me. “What do you think it means?

I d-duh-don’t know wh-why you even b-buh -bother b-buh-because in s-six y-yuh-years y-you’re g-guh-going to be j-juh-just l-like—”“Don’t say that.”Something inside me went cold. “I’m never going to be like him.

Sartre said “Hell is other people,” while Streisand sang “People who need people are the luckiest people in the world.

She shook her head, gazing at me with a mixture of exasperation and annoyance. “I understand now why you never have a girlfriend, Perry.”“What? I’ve had a girlfriend! What’s that got to do with anything?”“You do not know how to listen to a woman

I seduced my admissions officer.”“Wonderful.”“She seemed to think so.”“She?”Gobi reached over and squeezed my thigh. “Does that excite you?”“No.”“You must learn to adapt, Perry. Improvise. Go with the flow.

You know, my sister heard you calling somebody about buying guns one night.”“Annie is a wonderful girl,”Gobi said. “She reminds me of . . .”“Who?”She hesitated and shook her head. “No one. You are fortunate to have such a wonderful sister.

You should not be afraid of a little blood,” Gobi said. “Life is full of it.

For nine months I see things in your home, Mr. Stormaire, and I watch how you treat your son. I see that you want the best for him, but you have crushed his spirit with your expectations, and you have discouraged him with your restrictions. Family is important, but it is not immune to the indifference of a cold-hearted parent.”“I see,”my dad said. “And you’re an expert on this, are you, Gobi? On my family?”“I know that the man who does not put his family first places his own soul at peril. I have been watching and listening. And while that may not make me an expert, I would say that I know what I am speaking of.

She leaned up and kissed me. Her mouth tasted like lipstick, blood, and gunpowder. It was also the softest thing that I’d ever felt, and in spite of the pain I felt my mouth opening so that my tongue could flick out to taste hers. The heat came off her face like a furnace. Our tongues moved around each other’s, swirling and dueling. Finally she broke the kiss. It was like surfacing after a long, intoxicating dive through a sea of Red Bull. “What was that for?”I managed. “I am beginning to like you, Perry.”I shivered out a breath. “You’ve got a kooky way of showing it.”“Have you ever felt more alive?”“Once or twice, yes.”Gobi was still looking at me, lips half parted, eyes searching the depths of whatever was inside me. She looked lost and young and totally uncontrolled, a reflection of how I felt now, in a place that I’d never been before, somewhere that nobody would ever think to look for me. I had the sudden, ridiculous, absolutely compelling vision of chucking everything—school, music, my family and friends—and running away with her, away from the rest of the world. I figured we’d last about a week. “Are you all right?”she asked. “My head hurts.”“Is the lipstick,”she smiled. “There is a mind-control drug in it. You are now completely under my power ... By dawn you will be mine.”“Just promise me you won’t hurt my family.”She went serious. “Families get hurt, Perry. There are no guarantees this side of the grave.”“You’re a real bitch, you know that?”“I never denied it.”I swung at her. She caught my fist. “Too slow.”I let myself tilt forward just enough for our foreheads to touch, then reached for her neck and put my fingers on the scar, tracing the thin curve of raised tissue. “What happened there?”Her gaze shifted away. “A painful memory.”“Like what, getting your throat cut and coming back from the grave?”Gobi straightened up. The mood didn’t just break—it shattered into a million sharp and spiky pieces that lay all over the sidewalk like dragon’s teeth. Then she shuddered and fell still. “Gobi?”She leaned forward again, and I caught her. For a moment we just stood there together in front of the dive bar, and when I felt her legs starting to give way, I lowered her back down the front steps.

My conscious mind absorbed what my instincts had already realized: one of the girls was Gobi; the other was so similar that she could have been her twin. I couldn’t exactly say how I knew which was which; some nuance of the smile, a subtle glint of humor that the other, more earnest girl didn’t reveal. I held the photo directly up to my eyes, looking more closely. Both girls were wearing pendants around their necks. Half-hearts. I am Death.

The face was bulbous and pink and hairless, utterly unremarkable, a Sunday school teacher’s face, and that was the most unsettling part of it. Although he was probably my dad’s age or older, the slack, anonymous complexion and dead eyes made it impossible to exactly pinpoint his age. He could have been a wax statue, a young actor made up to look old, or an amateurishly embalmed corpse.

I would simply crush his windpipe so he could say no more offensive things to women.

My voice felt dead, even to me, like somebody talking in his sleep.

Courage has been described as “grace under pressure".

Gobi jammed something hard into my spine, an elbow or a dagger or the barrel of a gun, and I sat down heavily, still feeling the old man’s eyes on me. They were as brown as chestnuts, searching and soulful, with the depth of those of someone who’d lost something close to him and had never quite allowed himself to get over it.

A young man’s distractions are far more potent than an old man’s memories,’he told me. He said that in the end memory is a cheat and a lie and no substitute for what he called the real stuff, the stuff of life.