Erie Quotes

Human beings will be happier - not when they cure cancer or get to Mars or eliminate racial prejudice or flush Lake Erie but when they find ways to inhabit primitive communities again. That’s my utopia.

En kötüsü, hayır demeyi öğrenemedim. Yemeğe kal, dediler: kaldım. Oysa, kalınmaz. Onlar biraz ısrar ederler; sen biraz nazlanırsın. Sonunda kalkıp gidilir. Her söylenileni ciddiye almak yok mu, şu sözünün eri olmak yok mu; bitirdi, yıktı beni.

As Cassian drew twin Illyrian blades, the sight of them like home, and said to Eris with lethal calm, “I suggest you drop my lady.

Let’s say you are an empty vessel. So what? What’s wrong with that?” Eri said. “You’re still a wonderful, attractive vessel. And really, does anybody know who they are? So why not be a completely beautiful vessel? The kind people feel good about, the kind people want to entrust with precious belongings.

I want to wake up ev­ery day I have left to the warmth of your lips on mine, the sound of your voice singing next to me, the feel of your fin­gers on my skin and your heart beat­ing mu­sic with mine.

In some ways, com­ing to terms with my­self and work­ing to­ward re­cov­ery has been like say­ing “I love you” to some­one but keep­ing a loaded gun hid­den in your back pocket, just in case that per­son pisses you off enough.

I grew up surrounded by monsters. I've spent my existence fighting them. And I see you, Eris. You're not one of them. Not even close. I think you might even be a good male." Cassian opened the door, turning from Eris's curled lip. "You're just too much of a coward to act like one.

But it's strange, isn't it?" Eri said. "What is?" "That amazing time in our lives is gone, and will never return. All the beautiful possibilities we had then have been swallowed up in the flow of time.

The jogger sighed. He pulled out his phone and my eyes got big, because it glowed with a bluish light. When he extended the antenna, two creatures began writhing around it-green snakes, no bigger than earthworms. The jogger didn't seem to notice. He checked his LCD display and cursed. "I've got to take this. Just a sec ..." Then into the phone: "Hello?" He listened. The mini-snakes writhed up and down the antenna right next to his ear. Yeah," the jogger said. "Listen-I know, but... I don't care if he is chained to a rock with vultures pecking at his liver, if he doesn't have a tracking number, we can't locate his package....A gift to humankind, great... You know how many of those we deliver-Oh, never mind. Listen, just refer him to Eris in customer service. I gotta go.

The on­ly thing I know is ev­ery­thing you love will die.

Ev­ery­thing you re­mem­ber is wrong.

There is a child - a baby - who long since kicked off her blankets. Her skin is ashen and her mouth open in a perpetual yet silent scream. She isn't old enough to roll over, to sit up, to climb. So she lies there kicking her fat legs against the footboard of the crib, eternally calling for her mother. For food. For flesh.

You must have a bladder like Lake Erie. I think empires rose and fell in the time it took you to pee. I could hear it the whole time." Thank you. Do you want something?

Tu eri morto – disse – e non c'era più niente di bello, al mondo.

Maybe that's all that praying was, she thought, just wishing good outcomes on other people.

There are all kinds of things we have to deal with in life,” Eri finally said. “And one thing always seems to connect with another. You try to solve one problem, only to find that another one you hadn’t anticipated arises instead. It’s not that easy to get free of them.

What can we make of the inexpressible joy of children? It is a kind of gratitude, I think—the gratitude of the ten-year-old who wakes to her own energy and the brisk challenge of the world. You thought you knew the place and all its routines, but you see you hadn’t known. Whole stacks at the library held books devoted to things you knew nothing about. The boundary of knowledge receded, as you poked about in books, like Lake Erie’s rim as you climbed its cliffs. And each area of knowledge disclosed another, and another. Knowledge wasn’t a body, or a tree, but instead air, or space, or being—whatever pervaded, whatever never ended and fitted into the smallest cracks and the widest space between stars.

Quod tu es, eqo fui, quod ego sum, tu eris. What you are, I once was. What I am, you will become.

The whole world can rot.' Eris whispers. 'Let's just sit here and watch it happen.

Cassian pulled back, and remained that way long enough that she opened her eyes again to find his face inches from her own. "You're not going to marry Eris," he said roughly. "No," she breathed. His eyes blazed. "There will be no one else. For either of us." "Yes," she whispered. "Ever," he promised. Nesta laid a hand on his muscled chest, letting the thunderous beating of the heart beneath echo into her palm. Let it travel down her arm, into her own chest, her own heart. "Ever," she swore.

Most ev­ery­thing else I know is from the mess­es these peo­ple leave be­hind.

That's not water. That's socialism juice. We should bomb Lake Erie.

«Ho voluto credere che fosse a causa di un incantesimo quando eri sempre nei miei pensieri e mi scoprivo a cercarti tra la gente.Non avrei dovuto nemmeno guardarti e invece volevo cedere a ciò che desideravo,dopotutto chi ero io per oppormi a una forza più grande di me?».

Then all you can do is get lost in the tiny de­tails of ev­ery day do­ing the same tasks over and over.

...we're a people who pollute the very air we breathe. And our rivers. We're destroying the great lakes; Erie is already gone, and now we've begun on the oceans. We filled our atmosphere with radioactive fallout that put poison into our children's bones, and we knew it. We've made bombs that can wipe out humanity in minutes, and they are aimed and ready to fire. We ended polio, and then the United States Army bred new strains of germs that can cause fatal, incurable disease. We had a chance to do justice to our Negroes, and when they asked it, we refused. In Asia we burned people alive, we really did. We allow children to grow up malnourished in the United States. We allow people to make money by using our television channels to pursued our own children to smoke, knowing what it is going to do to them. This is a time when it becomes harder and harder to continue telling yourself that we are still good people. We hate each other. And we're used to it.

Here in the bath­room with me are ra­zor blades. Here is io­dine to drink. Here are sleep­ing pills to swal­low. You have a choice. Live or die. Ev­ery breath is a choice. Ev­ery minute is a choice. To be or not to be.

You don't get it" she said ''Don't get what?" ''We are one" ''We are one?" Tengo asked with a shock. ''We wrote the book together" Tengo felt the pressure of Fuka-Eri's fingers against his palm. ... ''That's true. We wrote Air Crysalis together. And when we are eaten by the tiger, we'll be eaten together.

Ev­ery last minute of my life has been pre­or­dained, and I’m sick and tired of it.

This layers, like some kind of transparent sponge kind of thing, stands there between Eri Asai and me, and the words that come out of my mouth have to pass through it, and when that happens, the sponge sucks almost all the nutrients right out of them.

LA MADRE E il cuore quando d'un ultimo battito avrà fatto cadere il muro d'ombra per condurmi, Madre, sino al Signore, come una volta mi darai la mano. In ginocchio, decisa, Sarai una statua davanti all'eterno, come già ti vedeva quando eri ancora in vita. Alzerai tremante le vecchie braccia, come quando spirasti dicendo: Mio Dio, eccomi. E solo quando m'avrà perdonato, ti verrà desiderio di guardarmi. Ricorderai d'avermi atteso tanto, e avrai negli occhi un rapido sospiro.

You don’t have to con­trol ev­ery­thing,” she says. “You can’t con­trol ev­ery­thing.

Ev­ery­thing they be­lieved in turned out to be wrong.

Har­ri­son had start­ed out wor­ried that Cor­rie would shoot Mary Rose be­cause the wom­an was as crazy as ev­ery­one said she was, but by the time the one-​sid­ed con­ver­sa­tion was fin­ished, his con­cern had changed. Now he couldn't fig­ure out why Cor­rie didn't shoot her just to shut her up.

On the mainland of America, the Wampanoags of Massasoit and King Philip had vanished, along with the Chesapeakes, the Chickahominys, and the Potomacs of the great Powhatan confederacy. (Only Pocahontas was remembered.) Scattered or reduced to remnants were the Pequots, Montauks, Nanticokes. Machapungas, Catawbas, Cheraws, Miamis, Hurons, Eries, Mohawks, Senecas, and Mohegans. (Only Uncas was remembered.) Their musical names remained forever fixed on the American land, but their bones were forgotten in a thousand burned villages or lost in forests fast disappearing before the axes of twenty million invaders. Already the once sweet-watered streams, most of which bore Indian names, were clouded with silt and the wastes of man; the very earth was being ravaged and squandered. To the Indians it seemed that these Europeans hated everything in nature—the living forests and their birds and beasts, the grassy glades, the water, the soil, and the air itself.

But that was the last time. That was…how should I say it? ... the one moment in my life when I was able to draw closest to Eri ... the one moment when she and I joined heart to heart as one: there was nothing separating us. After that, it seems, we grew further and further apart. We separated, and before long we were living in different worlds. That sense of union I felt in the darkness of the lift, that strong bond between our hearts, never came back again. I don't know what went wrong, but we were never able to go back to where we started from.

I don’t ex­pect you to un­der­stand,” Adam says. “You’re still the eight-​year-​old sit­ting in school, sit­ting in church, be­liev­ing ev­ery­thing you’re told. You re­mem­ber pic­tures in books. They planned how you’d live your whole life. You’re still asleep.

True marriage enabled the two partners to stand upright as properly formed human beings. Through the union, each partner acquired his missing leg. For anyone who had the experience of using two legs, life wasn't worth living if one had to manage on a single one.

Ten years ago, he was the hard­work­ing salt of the earth. All he want­ed was to go to Heav­en. Sit­ting here to­day, ev­ery­thing that he worked for in the world is lost. All his ex­ter­nal rules and con­trols are gone.

Eri come il sole. Il mio sole personale. Il rimedio migliore alle mie nuvole." "Con le nuvole posso farcela. Ma non posso cavarmela contro un'eclissi

Ev­ery­one else I could call is dead.

Ev­ery phone call I get fills me with joy and ter­ror since this could be the case­work­er or the killer.

There is power in naming yourself, but there is also power in being unnameable.

But you would do it for me, For everyone else. You do not get to be alone in that, Eris; you do not get to save people without them doing same for you.

I've missed you, Eris. You and me, we kind of deserve each other, don't we?

André si accigliò. «Eri lì anche tu», replicò con delusione. Mi rabbuiai. «No, non c’ero.»

Tamlin shrank from her outstretched finger, claws digging into the earth. “Put that finger down, you witch.” Nesta smiled. “I’m glad you remember what happened to the last person I pointed at.” She lowered her arm. “We’re going now.” She stepped back to where Cassian was already waiting, arms open. He wrapped them around her waist. Nesta glanced to Eris, who gave her a shallow, approving nod, then vanished. Nesta said to Tamlin before they shot into the skies, “Tell anyone you saw us, High Lord, and I’ll rip your head from your body, too.

Peo­ple are look­ing for how to put ev­ery­thing to­geth­er. They need a uni­fied field the­ory that com­bines glam­our and ho­li­ness, fash­ion and spir­itu­al­ity. Peo­ple need to rec­on­cile be­ing good and be­ing good-​look­ing.

back in my mid-twenties, a friend getting into a relationship could be enough to send me into a spiral of depression and anxiety, simultaneously worried I'd lose the friend and reminded that (as I thought then) I'd be forever alone.

With all the lit­tle facts we learned, we nev­er had the time to think. None of us ev­er con­sid­ered what life would be like clean­ing up af­ter a stranger ev­ery day. Wash­ing dish­es all day. Feed­ing a stranger’s chil­dren. Mow­ing a lawn. All day. Paint­ing hous­es. Year af­ter year.

[I] threw open the door to find Rob sit­ting on the low stool in front of my book­case, sur­round­ed by card­board box­es. He was seal­ing the last one up with tape and string. There were eight box­es - eight box­es of my books bound up and ready for the base­ment! "He looked up and said, 'Hel­lo, dar­ling. Don't mind the mess, the care­tak­er said he'd help me car­ry these down to the base­ment.' He nod­ded to­wards my book­shelves and said, 'Don't they look won­der­ful?' "Well, there were no words! I was too ap­palled to speak. Sid­ney, ev­ery sin­gle shelf - where my books had stood - was filled with ath­let­ic tro­phies: sil­ver cups, gold cups, blue rosettes, red rib­bons. There were awards for ev­ery game that could pos­si­bly be played with a wood­en ob­ject: crick­et bats, squash rac­quets, ten­nis rac­quets, oars, golf clubs, ping-​pong bats, bows and ar­rows, snook­er cues, lacrosse sticks, hock­ey sticks and po­lo mal­lets. There were stat­ues for ev­ery­thing a man could jump over, ei­ther by him­self or on a horse. Next came the framed cer­tificates - for shoot­ing the most birds on such and such a date, for First Place in run­ning races, for Last Man Stand­ing in some filthy tug of war against Scot­land. "All I could do was scream, 'How dare you! What have you DONE?! Put my books back!' "Well, that's how it start­ed. Even­tu­al­ly, I said some­thing to the ef­fect that I could nev­er mar­ry a man whose idea of bliss was to strike out at lit­tle balls and lit­tle birds. Rob coun­tered with re­marks about damned blue­stock­ings and shrews. And it all de­gen­er­at­ed from there - the on­ly thought we prob­ably had in com­mon was, What the hell have we talked about for the last four months? What, in­deed? He huffed and puffed and snort­ed and left. And I un­packed my books.

No­body wants to wor­ship you if you have the same prob­lems, the same bad breath and messy hair and hang­nails, as a reg­ular per­son. You have to be ev­ery­thing reg­ular peo­ple aren’t. Where they fail, you have to go all the way. Be what peo­ple are too afraid to be. Be­come whom they ad­mire.

Alla fine noi siamo 'sta roba qua. Sopravvissuti, imperfetti, pieni di cicatrici che ci siamo fatti tra di noi. Se ci guardi da vicino, ti accorgi che, non si sa come, restiamo attaccati. Siamo tenuti insieme con lo sputo. È così, quando attraversi la vita. Ti usuri. E non puoi più tornare com'eri prima. Ci devi stare. L'importante è che capisci quali sono i pezzi più importanti, quelli di cui non puoi fare a meno, che ti fanno essere quello che sei... E te li tieni stretti.

What kind of world will be there tomorrow? "No one knows the answer to that," Fuka-Eri said.

You like sequences,” Fuka-Eri asked, without a question mark. “To me, they’re like Bach’s Well-Tempered Clavier. I never get tired of them.

«Felicità è qualcosa che senti, Alex. Non è qualcosa che decidi di sentire quando sei pronto.»

A smile played around her lips, as if she knew a million secrets that no one could ever guess, which she probably did.

I sogni sono come le stelle: le vedi brillare tutte quando le luci artificiali si spengono, eppure stavano lì anche prima. Eri tu a non vederle, per il troppo chiasso delle altre luci.

There are all kinds of things we have to deal with in life,’ Eri finally said. ‘And one thing always seems to connect with another. You try to solve one problem, only to find that another one you hadn’t anticipated arises instead. It’s not that easy to get free of them. That’s true for you – and for me, too.

Poi posai la fronte contro la sua e rimasi seduto lì a lungo, come se potessi trasmettere un messaggio attraverso i nostri due crani, dal mio cervello al suo. Volevo fargli capire alcune cose. «Sai tutte quelle sciocchezze che abbiamo sempre detto si di te?» sussurrai. «Che scocciatore eri mai? Non crederci. Non crederlo neanche per un minuto, Marley.» Doveva saperlo, e anche qualcos'altro. C'era qualcosa che non gli avevo mai detto, che non gli aveva mai detto nessuno. Volvevo che lo sentisse prima di andarsene. «Marley», dissi. «Sei un grande cane.»

The only thing that matters to me in this life is you, Ery.” I kissed the side of his head and entwined my fingers in the short waves of his hair. “Gods, man, creature… I will kill them all if it means saving you.

ERIS (DISCORDIA), Strife, lay behind all disagreements, divorces, scraps, skirmishes, fights, battles and wars. It was her malicious wedding present, the legendary Apple of Discord, that brought about the Trojan War,

No more apologies for a bleeding heart when the opposite is no heart at all. Danger of losing our humanity must be met with more humanity. Otherwise we stand meekly behind Eris, hold Nemesis’s cloak, and genuflect at the feet of Thanatos.

You really want to do something for me?” Eris said suddenly, her lovely face turned up to the sun. She closed her eyes. Her lashes fell in thick brushstrokes across her cheeks. “Live, Avery. With or without Atlas, here in New York or on the damned moon, I don’t care. Just live, and be happy, since I can’t. Promise me that.

I am High Lady of the Night Court,' I said quietly to them all. Even Eris stopped sneering. His amber eyes widened, something like fear now creeping into them. 'There's no such thing as a High Lady,' one of Lucien's brothers spat. A faint smile played on my mouth. 'There is now.' And it was time for the world to know it.

Her dizziness has faded, but the rocking sensation continues. She feels as if her footing has been swept out from under her. Her body's interior has lost all necessary weight and is becoming a cavern. Some kind of hand is deftly stripping away everything that has constituted her as Eri until now: the organs, the senses, the muscles, the memories. She knows she will end up as a mere convenient conduit used for the passage of external things. Her flesh creeps with the overwhelming sense of isolation this gives her. I hate this! she screams. I don't want to he changed this way! But her intended scream never emerges. All that leaves her throat in reality is a fading whimper.

to sacrifice a hair of the head of your vision, a shade of its colour, in deference to some Headmaster with a silver pot in his hand or to some professor with a measuring-rod up his sleeve, is the most abject treach ery, and the sacrifice of wealth and chastity which used to be said to be the greatest of human disasters, a mere flea-bite in comparison.

Ma l'aspetto positivo dell'essere un ubriacone è che non eri mai stitico. A volte pensavo al fegato, ma lui non parlava mai, non diceva mai: "Smettila tu stai ammazzando me io ammazzerò te " Se avessimo il fegato parlante non avremmo bisogno degli Alcolisti Anonimi.

You do not get to be alone with that, Eris; you do not get to save people without them doing the same for you.' Her gaze burns into mine; I try to look away, and her hand close against my jaw, forcing me still under the soft weight of her fingertips, and then she whispers, with a quiet, jagged kind of ache, 'You do not get to love someone and think they won't feel it.

mainland of America, the Wampanoags of Massasoit and King Philip had vanished, along with the Chesapeakes, the Chickahominys, and the Potomacs of the great Powhatan confederacy. (Only Pocahontas was remembered.) Scattered or reduced to remnants were the Pequots, Montauks, Nanticokes. Machapungas, Catawbas, Cheraws, Miamis, Hurons, Eries, Mohawks, Senecas, and Mohegans. (Only Uncas was remembered.) Their musical names remained forever fixed on the American land, but their bones were forgotten in a thousand burned villages or lost in forests fast disappearing before the axes of twenty million invaders. Already the once sweet-watered streams, most of which bore Indian names, were clouded with silt and the wastes of man; the very earth was being ravaged and squandered. To the Indians it seemed that these Europeans hated everything in nature—the living forests and their birds and beasts, the grassy glades, the water, the soil, and the air itself.

Non sono uno che vuole farti a pezzi con un’ascia,» mi affrettai a dire. «È quello che direbbe uno che vuole farmi a pezzi con un’ascia.» «Ma… ma non lo sono.» La sua fragorosa risata risuonò nella quiete notturna. «Mica pensavo sul serio che lo eri, bambi. E poi, dove la prendevi un’ascia a quest’ora?»

La cosa più bella che può capitare a uno scrittore, a qualcuno che passa la sua vita a raccontare, è sentirsi raccontare. E quando scopri qualcuno che ti assomiglia veramente (ce ne sono) ti accorgi di quanto la persona su cui ti eri incastrata era sbagliata per te, e tu sbagliata per lui, e di quanto forse lei invece sia giusta, e quasi spero che ce la farà, che ce la faranno, perché è quello che conta, diventare un plurale – finché siamo io e te, come eravamo io e te, non cambia mai niente - e poi magari nessuno di noi si incontrerà mai, continueremo a essere soli in quel modo che soli non siamo, coi nostri fantasmi d’orgoglio e dolore, la nostra paura, un manipolo di sogni che a volte sono forti e hanno il potere di distorcere la trama del mondo e altre volte ci gravano addosso perché quella forza non la troviamo, vogliamo possiamo, ed è il mondo che distorce la trama di noi – io, te, lui, lei… così simili nel nostro essere – diversamente - alla deriva.

Forse la felicità dipende solo dall’insieme di piccoli dettagli positivi — il semaforo che diventa verde nel secondo in cui tu arrivi — e negativi — l’etichetta della T-shirt che ti pizzica sul collo — che capitano a ciascuno durante un giorno. Forse a ciascuno è assegnata un’identica quantità di felicità al giorno.Forse non aveva importanza se eri un rubacuori celebre in tutto il mondo o un patetico solitario. Forse non importava se una tua amica stava morendo.Forse a certe cose si passa attraverso e basta. Forse era l’unica cosa che si poteva chiedere.

«Sarà…» Mia madre si alza per sparecchiare. «Ma il fatto che torni a essere quella che eri prima dell’incidente anche solo parlando di questo Stefano e di quello che avete fatto insieme, io l’ho notato perfettamente, figlia mia.»

Plunge a sponge into Lake Erie. Did you absorb every drop? Take a deep breath. Did you suck the oxygen out of the atmosphere? Pluck a pine needle from a tree in Yosemite. Did you deplete the forest of foliage? Watch an ocean wave crash against the beach. Will there never be another one? Of course there will. No sooner will one wave crash into the sand than another appears. Then another, then another. This is a picture of God’s sufficient grace. Grace is simply another word for God’s tumbling, rumbling reservoir of strength and protection. It comes at us not occasionally or miserly but constantly and aggressively, wave upon wave. We’ve barely regained our balance from one breaker, and then, bam, here comes another.

For in their interflowing aggregate, those grand fresh-water seas of ours,--Erie, and Ontario, and Huron, and Superior, and Michigan,--possess an ocean-like expansiveness, with many of the ocean's noblest traits; with many of its rimmed varieties of races and climes. They contain round archipelagoes of romantic isles, even as the Polynesian water do; in large part, are shored by two great contrasting nations, as the Atlantic is; they furnish long maritime approaches to our numerous territorial colonies from the East, dotted all round their banks; here and there are frowned upon by batteries, and by the goat-like craggy guns of Mackinaw; they have heard the fleet thunderings of naval victories; at intervals, they have yield their beaches to wild barbarians, whose red painted faces flash from out their pelty wigwams; for leagues and leagues are flanked by ancient and unentered forests, where the gaunt pines stand like serried lines of kings in Gothic genealogies; those same woods harboring wild Afric beasts of prey, and silken creatures whose exported furs gives robes to Tartar Emperors; they mirror the paved capitals of Buffalo and Cleveland, as well as Winnebago villages; they float alike the full-rigged merchant ship, the armed cruiser of the State, the steamer, and the birch canoe; they are swept by Borean and dismasting blasts as direful as any that lash the salted wave; they know what shipwrecks are, for out of sight of land, however inland, they have drowned full many a midnight ship with all its shrieking crew.

In her last weeks, she had mo­ments of lu­cid­ity, and I cher­ished them when I was around to talk to her. One of these con­ver­sa­tions hap­pened when it was just me and her in the hos­pi­tal room. ‘I sus­pect you will never have a hus­band,’ she said, look­ing at me in­tently from her bed. ‘Would you be up­set if that hap­pened?’ I asked. ‘Your mother would be,’ she said, then low­ered her voice. ‘But I think you would be wise not to.’ This sur­prised me as I had al­ways thought that she and my grand­fa­ther had been very happy to­gether. ‘Why do you say that?’ I asked. Her hand, spot­ted in soft-brown splodges, the rails of her bones pro­trud­ing, flapped gen­tly at me to take it. I cupped it in both of mine. ‘You have a home that is yours,’ she said. ‘And your own money. Don’t you?’ ‘I have a bit of money, yes.’ ‘And you have your ed­u­ca­tion. And you have your ca­reer.’ I nod­ded. ‘Then you have ev­ery­thing,’ she said.

A certain something, he felt, had managed to work its way in through a tiny opening and was trying to fill a blank space inside him. The void was not one that Fuka-Eri had made. It had always been there inside Tengo. She had merely managed to shine a special light on it.

She managed a bored sigh. “I suppose we could do one picture, but a group shot won’t work. Nyx, how about one of you with your favorite child? Which one is that?” The brood rustled. Dozens of horrible glowing eyes turned toward Nyx. The goddess shifted uncomfortably, as if her chariot were heating up under her feet. Her shadow horses huffed and pawed at the void. “My favorite child?” she asked. “All my children are terrifying!” Percy snorted. “Seriously? I’ve met the Fates. I’ve met Thanatos. They weren’t so scary. You’ve got to have somebody in this crowd who’s worse than that.” “The darkest,” Annabeth said. “The most like you.” “I am the darkest,” hissed Eris. “Wars and strife! I have caused all manner of death!” “I am darker still!” snarled Geras. “I dim the eyes and addle the brain. Every mortal fears old age!” “Yeah, yeah,” Annabeth said, trying to ignore her chattering teeth. “I’m not seeing enough dark. I mean, you’re the children of Night! Show me dark!” The horde of arai wailed, flapping their leathery wings and stirring up clouds of blackness. Geras spread his withered hands and dimmed the entire abyss. Eris breathed a shadowy spray of buckshot across the void. “I am the darkest!” hissed one of the demons. “No, I!” “No! Behold my darkness!” If a thousand giant octopuses had squirted ink at the same time, at the bottom of the deepest, most sunless ocean trench, it could not have been blacker. Annabeth might as well have been blind. She gripped Percy’s hand and steeled her nerves. “Wait!” Nyx called, suddenly panicked. “I can’t see anything.” “Yes!” shouted one of her children proudly. “I did that!” “No, I did!” “Fool, it was me!” Dozens of voices argued in the darkness. The horses whinnied in alarm. “Stop it!” Nyx yelled. “Whose foot is that?” “Eris is hitting me!” cried someone. “Mother, tell her to stop hitting me!” “I did not!” yelled Eris. “Ouch!” The sounds of scuffling got louder. If possible, the darkness became even deeper. Annabeth’s eyes dilated so much, they felt like they were being pulled out of their sockets. She squeezed Percy’s hand. “Ready?” “For what?” After a pause, he grunted unhappily. “Poseidon’s underpants, you can’t be serious.” “Somebody give me light!” Nyx screamed. “Gah! I can’t believe I just said that!” “It’s a trick!” Eris yelled. “The demigods are escaping!” “I’ve got them,” screamed an arai. “No, that’s my neck!” Geras gagged. “Jump!” Annabeth told Percy. They leaped into the darkness, aiming for the doorway far, far below.

Well, look. You're the kid sister, but you always had a good, clear image of what you wanted for yourself. You were able to say no when you had to, and you did things at your own pace. But Eri Asai couldn't do that. From the time she was a little girl, her job was to play her assigned role and satisfy the people around her. She worked hard to be a perfect little Snow White—if I can borrow your name for her. It's true that everybody made a big fuss over her, but I'll bet that was really tough for her sometimes. At one of the most crucial points in her life, she didn't have a chance to establish a firm self. If 'complex' is too strong a word, let's just say she probably envied you.” Excerpt From: Haruki Murakami. “After Dark.” iBooks.

La vita sognata Chi mi parla non sa che io ho vissuto un’altra vita – come chi dica una fiaba o una parabola santa. Perché tu eri la purità mia, tu cui un’onda bianca di tristezza cadeva sul volto se ti chiamavo con labbra impure, tu cui lacrime dolci correvano nel profondo degli occhi se guardavamo in alto – e così ti parevo più bella. O velo tu – della mia giovinezza, mia veste chiara, verità svanita – o nodo lucente – di tutta una vita che fu sognata – forse – oh, per averti sognata, mia vita cara, benedico i giorni che restano – il ramo morto di tutti i giorni che restano, che servono per piangere te.

I won’t let you stay here. Julia, we’re a people who pollute the very air we breathe. And our rivers. We’re destroying the Great Lakes; Erie is already gone, and now we’ve begun on the oceans. We filled our atmosphere with radio-active fallout that put poison into our children’s bones, and we knew it. We’ve made bombs that can wipe out humanity in minutes, and they are aimed and ready to fire. We ended polio, and then the United States Army bred new strains of germs that can cause fatal, incurable disease. We had a chance to do justice to our Negroes, and when they asked it, we refused. In Asia we burned people alive, we really did. We allow children to grow up malnourished in the United States. We allow people to make money by using our television channels to persuade our own children to smoke, knowing what it is going to do to them. This is a time when it becomes harder and harder to continue telling yourself that we are still good people. We hate each other. And we’re used to it.

Penso di essermi innamorato di te nell'istante in cui capii che stavi spaccando quelle ossa per creare una trappola per il Verme di Middengard. O forse quando mi mostrasti il dito medio perchè ti avevo preso in giro. Mi ricordavi tanto Cassian. Avevo voglia di ridere per la prima volta da decenni. Mi innamorai di te, saccentona, perchè eri una di noi. Perchè non avevi paura di me, e perchè decidesti di completare la tua vittoria spettacolare lanciando quel pezzo d'osso ad Amarantha come se fosse un giavellotto. In quel momento percepii lo spirito di Cassian accanto a me e avrei potuto giurare di sentirlo dire: "Se non la sposi tu, stupido stronzo, la sposerò io. -Rhysand, Corte di Nebbia e Furia. Capitolo 55.

Dovevi comportati bene con il prossimo, anche con i leccapiedi. E se: a) Credevi che Gesù fosse il Figlio di Dio b) Credevi che fosse venuto a salvarti dal peccato c) Riconoscevi la presenza dello Spirito Santo dentro di te (tornavi bambino, diceva lui) d) Non bestemmiavi contro il suddetto Spirito (vedi c) Allora: e) Avresti vissuto in eterno f) In un posto fichissimo g) Probabilmente in paradiso Se invece h) Peccavi (e/o) i) Ti comportavi da ipocrita (e/o) j) Davi più importanza alle cose che alle persone (e/o) k) Non facevi quanto elencato ai punti a, b, c, d Eri semplicemente l) fottuto

Paikka vaikuttaa ihmisen mieleen niin kuin vallitseva säätilakin. Ihminen on erilainen eri paikoissa, epäilemättä. Voiko oikeastaan koskaan sanoa, että ihminen on sama? On paikkoja, jotka tuovat ihmisestä esiin puolia, joiden olemassaolosta emme ole tienneet. Joihinkin paikkoihin mieli ei asetu, vaikka kuinka yrittäisi, ja aina on jotenkin vaikea olla. Tällaisella ilmalla taas on vaikea olla surullinen, vaikka kaikissa meissä olisikin hiven surua. Myös fysiologialla on omat vaikutuksensa. Jos varhaislapsuus on pelkkää fysiologiaa ja vanhuus sammuvan kojelaudan tuijottelua, välissä on sentään sävykkäämpiä jaksoja.

«Non sono qui perché sono a pezzi, sono qui perché mi sento completo. Problematico, probabilmente immeritevole, ma completo. Non ho bisogno di te, ma ti voglio. Ti voglio.» La mia voce si era fatta roca in modo imbarazzante. «Da morire. E…» Un altro respiro, un altro respiro. «Forse ti amo. O potrei amarti. O potrei arrivare ad amarti.» Avvertii un brusco capogiro, come se fossi sul punto di svenire o se stessi perdendo sangue dal naso. «Occhessoio.» «Oh, bambi,» disse Darian sorridendo, «sei un sacco romanico.» Rimasi a fissarlo, stordito e terrorizzato. «Oh, Dio. Allora è vero. Mi sa che ti amo. Ti amo sul serio.» Risi, non senza una punta di isteria. «Ti amo.» «Già.» Darian annuì con espressione saggia. «Io l’avevo pensato che eri innamorato di me. E poi ho pensato di no. E poi ho pensato che non lo eri per niente. E poi ho pensato di nuovo che lo eri. È tutt’apposto, bambi.»

«Il tuo amore non vale un cazzo.»«Ma volevo solo renderti felice.» C’era una supplica nella sua voce, ma la ignorai. «Perché non me lo hai permesso? Mi sono sempre detto che il problema eri tu, non io, che non ne eri in grado. Che eri troppo incasinato. Ma… ma adesso hai trovato qualcuno che ti fa felice, quindi il problema sono sempre stato io.» E poi cominciò a piangere: rochi, affannati, singhiozzi gli uscirono dalla gola senza alcun freno, quasi fossero sul punto di soffocarlo. Non lo avevo mai visto piangere. E quella notte non me ne importava. «Volevo solo… guarirti.» «Questo è quello che sono.» Infilai la chiave nella toppa. «Non ho bisogno di essere guarito.»

L'AQUILONE C'è qualcosa di nuovo oggi nel sole, anzi d'antico: io vivo altrove, e sento che sono intorno nate le viole. Son nate nella selva del convento dei cappuccini, tra le morte foglie che al ceppo delle quercie agita il vento. Si respira una dolce aria che scioglie le dure zolle, e visita le chiese di campagna, ch'erbose hanno le soglie: un'aria d'altro luogo e d'altro mese e d'altra vita: un'aria celestina che regga molte bianche ali sospese... sì, gli aquiloni! È questa una mattina che non c'è scuola. Siamo usciti a schiera tra le siepi di rovo e d'albaspina. Le siepi erano brulle, irte; ma c'era d'autunno ancora qualche mazzo rosso di bacche, e qualche fior di primavera bianco; e sui rami nudi il pettirosso saltava, e la lucertola il capino mostrava tra le foglie aspre del fosso. Or siamo fermi: abbiamo in faccia Urbino ventoso: ognuno manda da una balza la sua cometa per il ciel turchino. Ed ecco ondeggia, pencola, urta, sbalza, risale, prende il vento; ecco pian piano tra un lungo dei fanciulli urlo s'inalza. S'inalza; e ruba il filo dalla mano, come un fiore che fugga su lo stelo esile, e vada a rifiorir lontano. S'inalza; e i piedi trepidi e l'anelo petto del bimbo e l'avida pupilla e il viso e il cuore, porta tutto in cielo. Più su, più su: già come un punto brilla lassù lassù... Ma ecco una ventata di sbieco, ecco uno strillo alto... - Chi strilla? Sono le voci della camerata mia: le conosco tutte all'improvviso, una dolce, una acuta, una velata... A uno a uno tutti vi ravviso, o miei compagni! e te, sì, che abbandoni su l'omero il pallor muto del viso. Sì: dissi sopra te l'orazïoni, e piansi: eppur, felice te che al vento non vedesti cader che gli aquiloni! Tu eri tutto bianco, io mi rammento. solo avevi del rosso nei ginocchi, per quel nostro pregar sul pavimento. Oh! te felice che chiudesti gli occhi persuaso, stringendoti sul cuore il più caro dei tuoi cari balocchi! Oh! dolcemente, so ben io, si muore la sua stringendo fanciullezza al petto, come i candidi suoi pètali un fiore ancora in boccia! O morto giovinetto, anch'io presto verrò sotto le zolle là dove dormi placido e soletto... Meglio venirci ansante, roseo, molle di sudor, come dopo una gioconda corsa di gara per salire un colle! Meglio venirci con la testa bionda, che poi che fredda giacque sul guanciale, ti pettinò co' bei capelli a onda tua madre... adagio, per non farti male.

-La tua stessa coscienza ti dice che non sei più quello che eri, io invece sono rimasta la stessa, e mi rendo conto che tutto quello che ci prometteva felicità quando avevamo gli stessi sentimenti è diventato presagio d'infelicità ora che siamo diversi. Quanto sovente e con quanta pena abbia pensato ciò non voglio dirtelo. E' sufficiente che vi abbia pensato e che sia in grado ora di renderti la tua libertà. -Te l'ho forse mai chiesta? -A parole no, mai. - E in quale modo allora? -Mutando il tuo carattere, il tuo umore, la tua atmosfera di vita, le tue speranze, tutto ciò che rendeva il mio amore bello ai tuoi occhi. Se nulla mai ci fosse stato fra di noi, dimmi, mi sceglieresti ancora, cercheresti ancora di conquistarmi? Oh no, certo!

And here’s thing,” Gunner said. “I kin understand it when a man throws back a few too many drinks on a lonesome night, gets sour inside, and sucks at the teat of a musket for jus’ long enough so that big ole ‘fuck you’ we scream at the world bounces back as ‘fuck me’ and he pulls the trigger. I kin understand when a girl climbs a tree and tries on a noose necklace for size and once she got it on thinkin’, ‘I come this far, why not?’ and takin’ that hop. Prob’ly e’ryone who looks oft a cliff thinks a taking the sharp drop with a sudden stop. E’ery sailor has thought of takin’ that swim what fattens sharks. We all got the black moment when the evil eye of the barrel dares a starin’ contest. And we’re all a hair trigger’s pull from the musket’s dare. It’s the devil’s gift, ain’t it? It’s the heritage o’ man, aye?

Rea­sons Why I Loved Be­ing With Jen I love what a good friend you are. You’re re­ally en­gaged with the lives of the peo­ple you love. You or­ga­nize lovely ex­pe­ri­ences for them. You make an ef­fort with them, you’re pa­tient with them, even when they’re side­tracked by their chil­dren and can’t pri­or­i­tize you in the way you pri­or­i­tize them. You’ve got a gen­er­ous heart and it ex­tends to peo­ple you’ve never even met, whereas I think that ev­ery­one is out to get me. I used to say you were naive, but re­ally I was jeal­ous that you al­ways thought the best of peo­ple. You are a bit too anx­ious about be­ing seen to be a good per­son and you def­i­nitely go a bit over­board with your left-wing pol­i­tics to prove a point to ev­ery­one. But I know you re­ally do care. I know you’d sign pe­ti­tions and help peo­ple in need and vol­un­teer at the home­less shel­ter at Christ­mas even if no one knew about it. And that’s more than can be said for a lot of us. I love how quickly you read books and how ab­sorbed you get in a good story. I love watch­ing you lie on the sofa read­ing one from cover-to-cover. It’s like I’m in the room with you but you’re in a whole other gal­axy. I love that you’re al­ways try­ing to im­prove your­self. Whether it’s running marathons or set­ting your­self chal­lenges on an app to learn French or the fact you go to ther­apy ev­ery week. You work hard to be­come a bet­ter ver­sion of your­self. I think I prob­a­bly didn’t make my ad­mi­ra­tion for this known and in­stead it came off as ir­ri­ta­tion, which I don’t re­ally feel at all. I love how ded­i­cated you are to your fam­ily, even when they’re an­noy­ing you. Your loy­alty to them wound me up some­times, but it’s only be­cause I wish I came from a big fam­ily. I love that you al­ways know what to say in con­ver­sa­tion. You ask the right ques­tions and you know ex­actly when to talk and when to lis­ten. Ev­ery­one loves talk­ing to you be­cause you make ev­ery­one feel im­por­tant. I love your style. I know you think I prob­a­bly never no­ticed what you were wear­ing or how you did your hair, but I loved see­ing how you get ready, sit­ting in front of the full-length mir­ror in our bed­room while you did your make-up, even though there was a mir­ror on the dress­ing ta­ble. I love that you’re mad enough to swim in the English sea in No­vem­ber and that you’d pick up spi­ders in the bath with your bare hands. You’re brave in a way that I’m not. I love how free you are. You’re a very free per­son, and I never gave you the sat­is­fac­tion of say­ing it, which I should have done. No one knows it about you be­cause of your bor­ing, high-pres­sure job and your stuffy up­bring­ing, but I know what an ad­ven­turer you are un­der­neath all that. I love that you got drunk at Jack­son’s chris­ten­ing and you al­ways wanted to have one more drink at the pub and you never com­plained about get­ting up early to go to work with a hang­over. Other than Avi, you are the per­son I’ve had the most fun with in my life. And even though I gave you a hard time for al­ways try­ing to for al­ways try­ing to im­press your dad, I ac­tu­ally found it very adorable be­cause it made me see the child in you and the teenager in you, and if I could time-travel to any­where in his­tory, I swear, Jen, the only place I’d want to go is to the house where you grew up and hug you and tell you how beau­ti­ful and clever and funny you are. That you are spec­tac­u­lar even with­out all your sports trophies and mu­sic cer­tifi­cates and in­cred­i­ble grades and Ox­ford ac­cep­tance. I’m sorry that I loved you so much more than I liked my­self, that must have been a lot to carry. I’m sorry I didn’t take care of you the way you took care of me. And I’m sorry I didn’t take care of my­self, ei­ther. I need to work on it. I’m pleased that our break-up taught me that. I’m sorry I went so mental. I love you. I always will. I'm glad we met.

I’m scared, Eri. If I do something wrong, or say something wrong, I’m scared it will wreck everything and our relationship will vanish forever.” Eri slowly shook her head. “It’s no different from building stations. If something is important enough, a little mistake isn’t going to ruin it all, or make it vanish. It might not be perfect, but the first step is actually building the station. Right? Otherwise trains won’t stop there. And you can’t meet the person who means so much to you. If you find some defect, you can adjust it later, as needed. First things first. Build the station. A special station just for her. The kind of station where trains want to stop, even if they have no reason to do so. Imagine that kind of station, and give it actual color and shape. Write your name on the foundation with a nail, and breathe life into it. I know you have the power to do that. Don’t forget—you’re the one who swam across the freezing sea at night.

She shut her eyes against the realisation rising within her like a tidal wave. It would sweep away everything in its path once she admitted it. Consume her entirely. The thought was enough for her to straighten and wipe away her tears. 'I can't accept this.' 'It was made for you,' he smiled softly. She couldn't bear that smile, his kindness and joy, as she corrected. 'I will not accept it.' She placed the orb back in its box and handed it to him. 'Return it.' His eyes shuttered. 'It's a gift, not a fucking wedding ring.' She stiffened. 'No, I'll look to Eris for that.' He went still. 'Say that again.' She made her face cold, the only shield she had against him. 'Rhys says Eris wants me for his bride. He'll do anything we want in exchange for my hand.' The Siphons atop Cassian's hands flickered. 'You aren't considering saying yes.' She said nothing. Let him believe the worst. He snarled. 'I see. I get a little too close and you shove me away again. Back to where it's safe. Better to marry a viper like Eris than be with me.' 'I am not with you,' she snapped. 'I am fucking you.' 'The only thing fit for a bastard-born brute, right?' 'I didn't say that.' 'You don't need to. You've said it a thousand times before.' 'Then why did you bother to cut in at the ball?' 'Because I was fucking jealous!' he roared, wings splaying. 'You looked like a queen, and it was painfully obvious that you should be with a princeling like Eris and not a low-born nothing like me! Because I couldn't stand the sight of it, right down to my gods-damned bones! But go ahead, Nesta. Go ahead and fucking marry him and good fucking luck to you!' 'Eris is the brute,' she shot back. 'He is a brute and a piece of shit. And I would marry him because I am just like him!' The words echoed through the room. His pained face gutted her. 'I deserve Eris.' Her voice cracked. Cassian panted, his eyes still lit with fury- and now with shock. Nesta said hoarsely. 'You are good, Cassian. And you are brave, and brilliant, and kind. I could kill anyone who has ever made you feel less than that- less than what you are. And I know I'm a part of that group, and I hate it.' Her eyes burned, but she fought past it. 'You are everything I have never been, and will never be good enough for. Your friends know it, and I have carried it around with me all this time- that I do not deserve you. The fury slid from his face. Nesta didn't stop the tears that flowed, or the words that tumbled out. 'I didn't deserve you before the war, or afterward, and I certainly don't now.' She let out a low, broken laugh. 'Why do you think I shoved you away? Why do you think I wouldn't speak to you?' She put a hand on her aching chest. 'After my father died, after I failed in so many ways- denying myself of you...' She sobbed. 'It was my punishment. Don't you understand that?' She could barely see him through her tears. 'From the moment I met you, I wanted you more than reason From the moment I saw you in my house, you were all I could think about. And it terrified me. No one had ever held such power over me. And I am still terrified that if I let myself have you... it will be taken away. Someone will take it away, and if you're dead...' She buried her face in her hands. 'It doesn't matter,' she whispered. 'I do not deserve you, and I never, ever will.' Utter silence filled the room. Such silence that she wondered if he'd left, and lowered her hands to see if he was there. Cassian stood before her. Tears streaming down his beautiful, perfect face. She didn't balk from it, letting him see her like this: her most raw, most base self. He'd always seen all of her, anyway. He opened his mouth and tried to speak. Had to swallow and try again. Nesta saw all the words in his eyes, though. The same ones she knew lay in her own.

«Ho pensato che mi stessi evitando perché eri arrabbiato...» «Ti stavo evitando perché ero confuso. È stata una sorpresa scoprire che sei transessuale, ma una sorpresa ancora più grande scoprire che non mi crea nessun problema. Sono sempre stato attratto dalle ragazze, ma c’è solo una persona che posso dire di aver amato... E sei tu. Il mondo non è bianco e nero, e se tutto va a rotoli è perché c’è ancora chi la pensa così. Io non voglio essere una di quelle persone. Voglio solo essere felice, io, e non c’è nulla che mi rende più felice di te. Allora, che cosa pensi? Possiamo cercare di essere grigi insieme?» «E se non funzionasse?» domandò Sam. «Allora non avrà funzionato» rispose Topher facendo spallucce. «Anche se alla fine dovessimo rimanere solo amici, non posso immaginare nulla di peggio che non averti nella mia vita. Io ci sarò sempre per te, di qualunque cosa tu abbia bisogno, in qualunque momento. È semplice.» Le parole di Topher fecero venire le lacrime a Sam, ma per la prima volta da moltissimo tempo erano lacrime di gioia. Sam diede a Topher l’abbraccio più forte che poteva. «Non hai idea di quanto ho aspettato che qualcuno mi dicesse una cosa del genere» disse Sam. «È andata bene?» disse Topher. «Ho passato tutto il giorno a ripetermi il discorso nella testa. Spero di non essere apparso troppo mieloso o disperato, perché erano parole sincere.» «No, è stato perfetto» ridacchiò Sam. «E non c’è niente che mi renderebbe più felice di essere grigio con te»

Non è vero" le dissi, ignorando quali sarebbero state le successive parole a uscirmi dalla bocca, ma desiderando che fossero mie, desiderandolo più di quanto avessi mai desiderato che qualcosa esprimesse il centro di me stesso, e che fosse compresa. "Stavo venendo a trovarti." Le dissi: "Sono venuto a casa tua ogni giorno negli ultimi sei giorni. Non so perchè, ma avevo bisogno di rivederti." Lei taceva, mi ero coperto di ridicolo, non c'è niente di male a non capire se stessi e scoppiò a ridere, a ridere più forte di quanto avessi mai sentito ridere qualcuno, e la risata la portò alle lacrime e poi cominciai a ridere io, di vergogna, la più profonda e completa. "Venivo a cercarti" ripetei, come a strusciare il naso nella mia stessa merda, "perchè volevo rivederti" e lei rideva, rideva. "Questo spiega perchè..." mi disse quando le riuscì di parlare. "Il perchè di cosa?" "Spiega perchè in questi sei giorni non eri mai a casa tua." Smettemmo di ridere, io accolsi il mondo dentro di me, lo riordinai e lo rimandai fuori in forma di domanda: "Ti piaccio?

She was the first close friend who I felt like I’d re­ally cho­sen. We weren’t in each other’s lives be­cause of any obli­ga­tion to the past or con­ve­nience of the present. We had no shared his­tory and we had no rea­son to spend all our time to­ gether. But we did. Our friend­ship in­ten­si­fied as all our friends had chil­dren – she, like me, was un­con­vinced about hav­ing kids. And she, like me, found her­self in a re­la­tion­ship in her early thir­ties where they weren’t specif­i­cally work­ing to­wards start­ing a fam­ily. By the time I was thirty-four, Sarah was my only good friend who hadn’t had a baby. Ev­ery time there was an­other preg­nancy an­nounce­ment from a friend, I’d just text the words ‘And an­other one!’ and she’d know what I meant. She be­came the per­son I spent most of my free time with other than Andy, be­cause she was the only friend who had any free time. She could meet me for a drink with­out plan­ning it a month in ad­vance. Our friend­ship made me feel lib­er­ated as well as safe. I looked at her life choices with no sym­pa­thy or con­cern for her. If I could ad­mire her de­ci­sion to re­main child-free, I felt en­cour­aged to ad­mire my own. She made me feel nor­mal. As long as I had our friend­ship, I wasn’t alone and I had rea­son to be­lieve I was on the right track. We ar­ranged to meet for din­ner in Soho af­ter work on a Fri­day. The waiter took our drinks or­der and I asked for our usual – two Dirty Vodka Mar­ti­nis. ‘Er, not for me,’ she said. ‘A sparkling wa­ter, thank you.’ I was ready to make a joke about her un­char­ac­ter­is­tic ab­sti­nence, which she sensed, so as soon as the waiter left she said: ‘I’m preg­nant.’ I didn’t know what to say. I can’t imag­ine the ex­pres­sion on my face was par­tic­u­larly en­thu­si­as­tic, but I couldn’t help it – I was shocked and felt an un­war­ranted but in­tense sense of be­trayal. In a de­layed re­ac­tion, I stood up and went to her side of the ta­ble to hug her, un­able to find words of con­grat­u­la­tions. I asked what had made her change her mind and she spoke in va­garies about it ‘just be­ing the right time’ and wouldn’t elab­o­rate any fur­ther and give me an an­swer. And I needed an an­swer. I needed an an­swer more than any­thing that night. I needed to know whether she’d had a re­al­iza­tion that I hadn’t and, if so, I wanted to know how to get it. When I woke up the next day, I re­al­ized the feel­ing I was ex­pe­ri­enc­ing was not anger or jeal­ousy or bit­ter­ness – it was grief. I had no one left. They’d all gone. Of course, they hadn’t re­ally gone, they were still my friends and I still loved them. But huge parts of them had dis­ap­peared and there was noth­ing they could do to change that. Un­less I joined them in their spa­ces, on their sched­ules, with their fam­i­lies, I would barely see them. And I started dream­ing of an­other life, one com­pletely re­moved from all of it. No more chil­dren’s birth­day par­ties, no more chris­ten­ings, no more bar­be­cues in the sub­urbs. A life I hadn’t ever se­ri­ously con­tem­plated be­fore. I started dream­ing of what it would be like to start all over again. Be­cause as long as I was here in the only Lon­don I knew – mid­dle-class Lon­don, cor­po­rate Lon­don, mid-thir­ties Lon­don, mar­ried Lon­don – I was in their world. And I knew there was a whole other world out there.

Poi", continuò Marguerite, "tu eri l'unica persona davanti alla quale avevo subito intuito che potevo pensare e parlare liberamente. Tutti coloro che stanno intorno alle donne come me analizzano tutto quello che diciamo, cercano di trarre delle conclusioni dalle nostre azioni più insignificanti. Per natura, non abbiamo amici. Abbiamo amanti egoisti, che dilapidano il patrimonio non certo per noi, come dicono, ma per la loro vanità. Per questi amanti, dobbiamo essere gaie quando sono allegri, in buona salute quando vogliono cenare, scettiche come loro. Ci è proibito avere un cuore, per non essere beffate e perdere il nostro credito. Noi non ci apparteniamo più. Non siamo più esseri umani, ma cose. Siamo le prime nel loro amor proprio, le ultime nella loro stima. Abbiamo amiche, ma sempre del genere di Prudence, ex mantenute, che hanno conservato il gusto dello scialo senza poterselo permettere, data l'età. Allora diventano le nostre amiche, o meglio, le nostre commensali. La loro amicizia arriva fino al servilismo, mai fino al disinteresse. Mai ci daranno un consiglio, se non venale. A loro poco importa se abbiamo dieci amanti, purché ci ricavino qualche vestito, o un braccialetto, e possano ogni tanto passeggiare nella nostra carrozza o andare al teatro nel nostro palco. Prendono i mazzi di fiori che abbiamo ricevuto il giorno prima, e si fanno prestare i nostri scialle di cachemire. Non ci fanno mai il minimo piacere senza farselo pagare il doppio di quello che vale. L'hai visto tu stesso, la sera in cui Prudence mi ha portato i seimila franchi che l'avevo pregata di chiedere da parte mia al duca: se n'è fatta prestare cinquecento che non mi restituirà mai, o che mi pagherà in cappelli che resteranno eternamente nelle loro scatole. Noi non possiamo avere, o meglio io non potevo avere che una gioia, triste come sono talvolta, sofferente come sono sempre: trovare un uomo abbastanza superiore da non chiedermi conto della mia vita, ed essere l'amante dei miei sentimenti molto più che del mio corpo. Un uomo così l'avevo trovato nel duce, ma il duca è vecchio, e la vecchiaia non protegge né consola. Avevo creduto di poter accettare la vita che mi offriva, ma che vuoi? morivo di noia, e per finire con l'uccidersi è meglio gettarsi in un incendio che asfissiarsi col carbone. Allora ho incontrato te, giovane, ardente, felice, e ho cercato di fare di te l'amante che avevo invocato nella mia rumorosa solitudine. Ciò che amavo in te non era l'uomo che eri, ma quello che dovevi essere. Tu non accetti questo ruolo, lo respingi come indegno di te, sei un amante volgare; fai come gli altri: pagami, e non ne parliamo più.

Ian mi spostò una ciocca di capelli dalla fronte.«Ma per bella che sia, non la conosco. Non è di lei che... mi importa.»La cosa mi fece sentire meglio. E ancora più confusa.«Ian, tu... nessuno qui ci separa come dovrebbe. Né tu, né Jamie, né Jeb.» La verità emerse all'improvviso, con più vigore di quanto desiderassi. «Tu non puoi affezionarti a me. Se potessi stringere tra le mani me, ne saresti disgustato. Mi butteresti a terra per schiacciarmi con un piede.» Corrugò la fronte pallida, aggrottando le sopracciglia nere. «Io... no, non se sapessi che sei tu.»Abbozzai una risata. «E come mi riconosceresti? Siamo tutte uguali.»Smarrì il sorriso.«È il suo corpo che conta» ribadii.«Non è affatto vero. Non è il volto, ma le sue espressioni. Non è la voce, ma il modo di parlare. Non è come ti sta quel corpo, ma le cose che ci fai. Tu sei bella.»Mentre parlava avanzò fino a inginocchiarsi ai piedi del mio letto, e riprese le mie mani tra le sue.«Non ho mai incontrato nessuna come te.» Non riuscii a prevederlo, come con Jared. Ian non mi era altrettanto fa-miliare. Melanie ne anticipò le intenzioni un istante prima che le sue labbra toccassero le mie."No!"Non fu come baciare Jared. Con lui non c'erano stati pensieri, ma soltanto desiderio. Senza controllo. Una fiammata inevitabile. Con Ian, non sapevo come sentirmi. Tutto era sfuocato e confuso.Le sue labbra erano morbide e calde. Le posò con delicatezza sulle mie, sfiorandole piano.«Bene o male?» sussurrò. Sorrisi. «Cos'hai combinato?»«Niente. Mi ha letteralmente incastrato.» La sua espressione innocente era un po' esagerata, perciò cambiò rapidamente argomento. «Indovina un po'? Jared ha passato il pranzo a ripetere che secondo lui non è giusto che tu abbandoni la stanza a cui eri abituata. E che non è il modo di trattare gli ospiti. Dice che tu dovresti tornare in camera con me! Non è grandioso? Gli ho chiesto se potevo dirtelo subito, e ha risposto che era una buona i-dea. Mi ha detto che ti avrei trovata qui.»«Ci avrei scommesso» mormorò Ian.«Che ne pensi, Wanda? Saremo di nuovo compagni di stanza!»«Ma, Jamie, dove andrà Jared?»«Aspetta, lasciami indovinare» lo anticipò Ian. «Non avrà detto anche che la vostra camera è abbastanza grande per tre?»«Sì. Come fai a saperlo?»«Ho tirato a indovinare.»«Buone notizie, no, Wanda? Sarà come prima che venissimo qui?»La sua frase fu come una pugnalata, un dolore troppo netto e preciso per confrontarlo con un pugno.Jamie scrutò allarmato la mia espressione afflitta. «Ops. Scusa, mi riferivo a tutte e due. Sarà bello. In quattro, no?»Cercai di ridere malgrado la sofferenza. Ian mi strinse la mano.«Tutti e quattro» mormorai. «Bene.»

Ascolta bene, Wanda. So esattamente ciò che non vuoi essere. Ma noi siamo umani, ed egoisti, e non facciamo sempre la cosa giusta! Non ti lasceremo andare. Fattene una ragione «Viandante? Ti stiamo aspettando tutti, piccola. Apri gli occhi.»Questa voce, il respiro caldo che mi sfiorava l'orecchio, era ancora più familiare. Percepii una strana sensazione quando la sentii. Una sensazione mai provata prima. Mi mozzò il respiro e mi fece tremare le dita.Volevo vedere quel viso, quella voce.Un'ondata di colore invase la mia mente - un colore che mi chiamava da una vita lontana - un blu acceso, brillante. L'universo era blu e acceso. I miei occhi trovarono il blu che cercavo. Zaffiro, neve e mezzanotte.«Ian? Ian, dove sono?» Il suono della voce che mi uscì dalle labbra mi spaventò. Acuto e stridulo. Familiare, ma non mio. «Chi sono?»«Tu sei tu» rispose Ian. «E sei di nuovo a casa.» «Ti ho tenuta in mano, Viandante. Ed eri bellissima.» «No. È grossa abbastanza solo per te.»«Non voglio restare solo. Però...»Perché non me lo chiedeva? «Però cosa?»«Sei riuscita a pensarci un po' su? Non voglio metterti fretta. So che sei confusa... a proposito di Jared...»Impiegai un istante a capire cosa voleva dirmi, e reagii con un risolino soffocato. In genere, Melanie non si lasciava andare, Luna invece sì, e il suo corpo mi tradiva nei momenti meno opportuni.«Che c'è?» domandò Ian.«Ero io ad aspettare che ci pensassi su» bisbigliai. «Non volevo metterti fretta, perché so che sei confuso. A proposito di Melanie.»Un sobbalzo impercettibile, di sorpresa. «Pensavi...? Ma Melanie non sei tu, non mi sono mai sentito confuso.»Sorridevo nel buio. «E tu non sei Jared.»Rispose circospetto. «Resta pur sempre Jared. E tu lo ami.»Era ancora geloso? Non avrei dovuto lasciarmi lusingare da un'emozione negativa, ma dovevo ammettere che mi gratificava.«Jared è il passato, un'altra vita. Tu sei il mio presente.»Tacque per un momento. Quando riprese a parlare, la sua voce era gon-fia di emozione. «E il tuo futuro, se lo vuoi.»«Sì, te ne prego.»Mi baciò nella maniera meno platonica possibile, in mezzo alla calca, mentre ripensavo con eccitazione alla mossa smaliziata e spontanea con cui avevo aggiunto un anno alla mia età.Terminata la stagione delle piogge, Ian sarebbe diventato il mio compa-gno, nel vero senso della parola. Era una promessa, un impegno al quale non mi ero mai sottoposta, in tutte le mie vite. Ripensarci mi riempiva di gioia, di ansia, di timidezza e di impazienza... mi faceva sentire umana. «Il diciottesimo!» Avevo mentito, aggiungendo un anno.Con la coda dell'occhio, vidi Melanie e Ian sobbalzare di sorpresa. Il mio corpo non dimostrava affatto i suoi quasi diciassette anni.Fu quel piccolo imbroglio, quella rivendicazione preventiva del mio compagno, a farmi capire che sarei rimasta con loro. Con Ian e il resto del-la mia famiglia. Sentii un gonfiore strano chiudermi la gola. «Melanie sarà mia per sempre. E io sarò per sempre suo.»

In ninety seconds they were naked and he was nibbling at her ear while his hand rubbed her pubic mat; but a saboteur was at work at his brain. 'I love you,' he thought, and it was not untrue because he loved all women now, knowing partially what sex was really all about, but he couldn't bring himself to say it because it was not totally true, either, since he loved Mavis more, much more. 'I'm awfully fond of you,' he almost said, but the absurdity of it stopped him. Her hand cupped his cock and found it limp; her eyes opened and looked into his enquiringly. He kissed her lips quickly and moved his hand lower, inserting a ringer until he found the clitoris. But even when her breathing got deeper, he did not respond as usual, and her hand began massaging his cock more desperately. He slid down, kissing nipples and bellybutton on the way, and began licking her clitoris. As soon as she came, he cupped her buttocks, lifted her pelvis, got his tongue into her vagina and forced another quick orgasm, immediately lowering her slightly again and beginning a very gentle and slow return in spiral fashion back to the clitoris. But still he was flaccid. 'Stop,' Stella breathed. 'Let me do you, baby.' George moved upward on the bed and hugged her. 'I love you,' he said, and suddenly it did not sound like a lie. Stella giggled and kissed his mouth briefly. 'It takes a lot to get those words out of you, doesn't it?' she said bemusedly. 'Honesty is the worst policy,' George said grimly. 'I was a child prodigy, you know? A freak. It was rugged. I had to have some defense, and somehow I picked honesty. I was always with older boys so I never won a fight. The only way I could feel superior, or escape total inferiority, was to be the most honest bastard on the planet earth.' 'So you can't say 'I love you' unless you mean it?' Stella laughed. 'You're probably the only man in America with that problem. If you could only be a woman for a while, baby! You can't imagine what liars most men are.' 'Oh, I've said it at times. When it was at least half true. But it always sounded like play-acting to me, and I felt it sounded that way to the woman, too. This time it just came out, perfectly natural, no effort.' 'That is something,' Stella grinned. 'And I can't let it go unrewarded.' Her black body slid downward and he enjoyed the esthetic effect as his eyes followed her— black on white, like the yinyang or the Sacred Chao—what was the psychoses of the white race that made this beauty seem ugly to most of them? Then her lips closed over his penis and he found that the words had loosened the knot: he was erect in a second. He closed his eyes to savor the sensation, then opened them to look down at her Afro hairdo, her serious dark face, his cock slipping back and forth between her lips. 'I love you,' he repeated, with even more conviction. 'Oh, Christ, Oh, Eris, oh baby baby, I love you!' He closed his eyes again, and let the Robot move his pelvis in response to her. 'Oh, stop,' he said, 'stop,' drawing her upward and turning her over, 'together,' he said, mounting her, 'together,' as her eyes closed when he entered her and then opened again for a moment meeting his in total tenderness, 'I love you, Stella, I love,' and he knew it was so far along that the weight wouldn't bother her, collapsing, using his arms to hug her, not supporting himself, belly to belly and breast to breast, her arms hugging him also and her voice saying, 'I love you, too, oh, I love you,' and moving with it, saying 'angel' and 'darling' and then saying nothing, the explosion and the light again permeating his whole body not just the penis, a passing through the mandala to the other side and a long sleep.