Esme Quotes

Love doesn't always come in convenient packages.

Esme Weatherwax hadn't done nice. She'd done what was needed.

We are all, Esme decides, just vessels through which identities pass: we are lent features, gestures, habits, then we hand them on. Nothing is our own. We begin in the world as anagrams of our antecedents.

Well, she could learn self control tomorrow. Today she wanted pizza.

He said I was unequipped to meet life because I had no sense of humor.

Edward can do everything, right?" I explained. Jasper snickered and Esme gave Edward a reproving look. "I hope you haven't been showing off-it's rude," she scolded. "Just a bit," he laughed freely. "He's been too modest actually," I corrected. "Well, play for her," Esme encouraged. "You just said showing off was rude," he objected. "There are exceptions to every rule," she replied.

Well, you know Esme. She wasn't one for that kind of thing - never one to push herself forward* * She hadn't ever needed to. Granny Weatherwax was like the prow of a ship. Seas parted when she turned up.

Take care of my heart, I've left it with you.

How did you change your life when you were trapped like this? Her history didn't define her. Her origins didn't define her. At least, they shouldn't. She could be more, if she had a chance.

All ethics and morals are culturally relative. And Esme's reaction taught me that while cultural relativism is an easy concept to process intellectually, it is not, for many, an easy one to remember.

Khải’s jaw dropped, and he stared at Jade. “There’s a tiny Esme.

Granny Weatherwax looked out at the multi-layered, silvery world. “Where am I?” INSIDE THE MIRROR. “Am I dead?” THE ANSWER TO THAT, said Death, IS SOMEWHERE BETWEEN NO AND YES. Esme turned, and a billion figures turned with her. “When can I get out?” WHEN YOU FIND THE ONE THAT’S REAL. “Is this a trick question?” NO. Granny looked down at herself. “This one,” she said.

I did start out in witchcraft to get boys, to tell you the truth.' 'Think I don't know that?' 'What did you start out to get, Esme?' Granny stopped, and looked up at the frosty sky and then down at the ground. 'Dunno,' she said at last.'Even, I suppose.

She was so beautiful she made his chest hurt.

[Esme] 'And then I was born and then she [her mother Lily] died.' [Edith 'Ditte' Thompson, her godmother] 'Yes.' 'But when we talk about her, she comes to life.' 'Never forget that Esme. Words are our tools of resurrection.

It struck me that we are never fully at ease when we are aware of another's gaze. Perhaps we are never fully ourselves. In the desire to please or impress, to persuade or dominate, our movements become conscious, our features set. [Esme Nicholl]

The end of times?" said Nanny. "Look, Tiff, Esme tol' me to say, if you want to see Esmerelda Weatherwax, then just you look around. She is here. Us witches don't mourn for very long. We are satisfied with happy memories - they're there to be cherished.

The difference between a beginning teacher and an experienced one is that the beginning teacher asks, "How am I doing?" and the experienced teacher asks, How are the children doing?

Two and a half thousand left-handed people are killed every year using things made for right-handed people.

My old mind hadn’t been capable of holding this much love. My old heart had not been strong enough to bear it. Maybe this was the part of me that I’d brought forward to be intensified in my new life. Like Carlisle’s compassion and Esme’s devotion. I would probably never be able to do anything interesting or special like Edward, Alice, and Jasper could do. Maybe I would just love Edward more than anyone in the history of the world had ever loved anyone else. I could live with that.

It is a terrible thing to want something you cannot have. It takes you over. I couldn't think straight because of it. There was no one else, I realized, whom I could possibly tell.

But when we talk about her, she comes to life.” “Never forget that, Esme. Words are our tools of resurrection.

The Dictionary is a history book, Esme. If it has taught me anything, it is that the way we conceive of things now will most certainly change.

We're lucky Esme thought to add an extra room. No one was planning for Ness-Renesmee." I frowned at him, my thoughts channeled down a less pleasant path. "Not you too," I complained. "Sorry, love. I hear it in their thoughts all the time, you know. It's rubbing off on me. I sighed. My baby, the sea serpent. Maybe there was no help for it. Well, I wasn't giving in.

On a million hillsides the girl ran, on a million bridges the girl chose, on a million paths the woman stood... All different, all one. All she could do for all of them was be herself, here and now, as hard as she could.

She walks slowly. She wants to feel the prick, the push of every bit of gravel under her shoe. She wants to feel every scratch, every discomfort of this....her leaving walk.

We begin in the world as anagrams of our antecedents.

Humans take. They plough with iron. They ravage the land.' 'Some do, I'll grant you that. Others put back more'n they take. They put back love. They've got soil in their bones.

Stay busy--I cannot overstate the benefits of a busy day for an anxious mind or a lonely heart. [Edith 'Ditte' Thompson, in letter to Esme Nicholl Owen]

Marry me, Esme. Please. Honor me. I will honor you as your husband never did. Our marriage would be a remedy against sin, if anyone could ever call it a sin to love you.” Sebastian Bonnington to Esme Rawlings

Nanny Ogg was about to say: What? You mean not compliant and self-effacing like what you is, Esme? But she stopped herself. You didn't juggle matches in a fireworks factory.

I remember Lizzie apologizing to Mrs. Lloyd the first time she stayed to chat, for the chip in the cup. 'A chip doesn't stop it from holding tea,' Mrs. Lloyd had said. [Esme Nicholl]

He was rather like a Christmas tree whose lights, wired in series, must all go out if even one bulb is defective.

Her grandmother keeps announcing that Esme will never find a husband if she doesn't change her ways. Yesterday, when she said it at breakfast, Esme replied "Good" and was sent to finish her meal in the kitchen.

Children don’t expect words to be used to create false trails. Words to Esme are plain and simple with no hidden codes, no duplicitous underlife. He thinks of the conversations with his wife and how little of what they said was without encryption.

I've got so much to do! Go play with Edward. I have to get to work." She dashed out of the room, yelling,"Esme!" as she disappeared.

Was it really necessary? Was it absolutely necessary to steal that sugar bowl from Esme Squalor?

They could only stare at Esme's shoes and wonder why she as wearing footwear that was so violent and impractical.

And Esme remembered in a rush--the wolfsong, the haunting, lyrical spirals of it in the dawn quiet and the feeling of euphoria that had attended it. Even in recollection the howling uplifted her like the crescendo at the end of a symphony and made her heartbeat quicken.

[Esme Nicholl] 'Morbs, Mabel? What does it mean?' [Mabel O'Shaughnessy] 'It's a sadness that comes and goes... I get the morbs, you get the morbs, even Miss Lizzie 'ere gets the morbs, though she'd never let on. A woman's lot, I reckon.' 'It must derive from morbid,' I said to myself.... 'I reckon it derives from grief,' said Mabel. 'From what we've lost and what we've never 'ad and never will. As I said, a woman's lot....

It's not our job to be liked(teachers)", I reminded her. "Its our job to help them be smart(students)". Secretly, I thought, who gives a rat's ass if they like us? Sometimes I can hardly stand them!

...'Loving children is what teachers do for extra credit. It's not the main assignment.' 'Seems to me that the extra credit is more important than the main assignment,' observed Cordelia.

Problem is, Esme, you're scared of the wrong thing. Without the vote nothing we say matters, and that should terrify you.

It occurred to me that the intimidation I always felt might have been of my own creation. - Esme

Se Carlisle era a alma da nossa família, Esme era o coração. Ele era um líder que merecia ser seguido; ela transformava aquela liderança em um ato de amor.

My only excuse is that I have no reputation myself, and I am thereby well aware of its ephemeral value. Reputation is worthless. Sebastian Bonnington's love letter to Esme Rawlings

Not to be impolite, but you guys bore me to death. Cole, go tell Vaughn to come here.” Busy scanning the room for Luna, Knight’s neck is still cranned as he answers her. “Damn.” He pats the pockets of his jeans, then checks the pockets of his golden Gucci jacket. “I can’t find it.” “Can’t find what?” Esme blinks. “The memo where I started taking orders from your sorry ass.

Two women in a room. One seated, one standing

It was always the meaningless tasks that endure: the washing, the cooing, the clearing, the cleaning. Never anything majestic or significant, just the tiny rituals that hold together the seams of human life.

Of the Scriptorium men, Mr. Sweatman was the last to return to work. He shook Gareth's hand and took mine to kiss it. 'How proud and happy your father would have been,' he said, and I held his gaze, knowing the memory of Da was stronger when it was shared. [Esme Nicholl]

Jasper followed Alice down the stairs, not racing but not moving cautiously like Carlisle and Esme, either. There was no need for him to put on a show. Everything he did seemed natural and right. In truth, he was laying it on a little thick. I gave him a sardonic look, and he grinned at me, then stopped by the newel post, leaving what might have felt like an odd distance between himself and the rest of us, but of course it couldn't feel odd if he didn't want it to.

I purely came over because I thought you looked extremely lonely. You have an extremely sensitive face.

In our hip-hop lives we make rhymes we make beats we go big or go home. - Esme from Sister Mischief

Goodbye," Esme said. "I hope you return from the war with all your faculties intact." "For Esmé—with Love and Squalor

[Esme] 'What exactly is a good family, Da?' ... [Harry Nicholl] 'Well, I supposed for some it's about reputation. Others, money. For others it might be education or good works.' 'But what does it mean for you?...Well?' ... 'Love, Essy. A good family is one where there is love.

I'd always thought that Ditte was like the trunk of a great tree: anchored securely to what she knew to be true. After just as few days in Bath, I began to think of [Ditte's sister] Beth as the canopy. In mind and body, she responded to whatever forces came her way. [Esme Nicholl]

I tend not to share things unnecessarily with those I despise.

...what about this rule about not meddling?’ said Magrat. ‘Ah,’ said Nanny. She took the girl’s arm. ‘The thing is,’ she explained, ‘as you progress in the Craft, you’ll learn there is another rule. Esme’s obeyed it all her life.’ ‘And what’s that?’ ‘When you break rules, break ‘em good and hard…

Over the years after my return to Carlisle and Esme, as I struggled to relearn all the discipline I'd abandoned, I came to the conclusion that Siobhan might not know anything greater than the call of blood, but I had been born to something better. And now, the words that had once haunted me, once driven me, came back with surprising force. The greatest joy of this life.

Se Carlisle era l’anima della famiglia, Esme ne era il cuore.

The dress bunched up like loose skin round her neck. It wouldn't behave, wouldn't act as if it was really hers. Wearing it was like being in a three legged race with someone you didn't like.

What would you have done?” Esme demanded. “Screamed for help, of course. But it would never occur to you to call for help. You don’t just think you’re a warrior. You think you’re a whole army.

Then she wound up the clock. Witches didn’t have much use for clocks, but she kept it for the tick…well, mainly for the tick. It made a place seem lived in. It had belonged to her mother, who’d wound it up every day. It hadn’t come as a surprise to her when her mother died, firstly because Esme Weatherwax was a witch and witches have an insight into the future and secondly because she was already pretty experienced in medicine and knew the signs. So she’d had a chance to prepare herself, and hadn’t cried at all until the day afterward, when the clock stopped right in the middle of the funeral lunch. She’d dropped a tray of ham rolls and then had to go and sit by herself in the privy for a while, so that no one would see.

Oh,’ she burst out. ‘I hate this—I hate it.’ ‘What?’ ‘Just—this. I feel as though I’m waiting for something and I’m getting scared it might never come.

It isn't all just kismet. Some of it is serendipity. Some of it is sagaci

I changed my mind about not saying what I think. If you let people walk over you while you’re young, you should get used to wearing feet marks across your face for the rest of your life.

But suddenly something sharp was cutting me, my throat, my wrists, my ankles. I screamed in shock, thinking he'd brought me there to hurt me more. Then fire started burning through me, and I didn't care about anything else. I begged him to kill me. When Esme and Edward came home, I begged them to kill me too. Carlise sat with me. He held my hand and said that he was so sorry, promising that it would end. He told me everything, and sometimes I listened. He told me what he was, what I was becoming. I didn't believe him. He apologized each time I screamed. Edward wasn't happy. I remember hearing them discuss me. I stopped screaming sometimes. It did no good to scream.

Esme slowly turned the picture over, her hands beginning to tremble again. Inscribed across the back of the photograph, in a woman’s elegant script, were two words. The ink might have faded, but the sentiment would surely endure forever. Dix’s strong, warm arms went around her. He rested his cheek against hers as they whispered in unison,“My Darling”.

Happy as a dog with two tails and a hard-on.

In an odd way, we no longer seemed like a family, just a collection of people living in different rooms.

But here’s the deal . . . Everything worthwhile takes longer than you think, trust me on this.

Just remember that you can't always do everything, but you can always do everything you can.

The simplest of tasks can create the happiest of moments.

Fame's overrated... friendship's not.

You’ll learn there is another rule. Esme’s obeyed it all her life.” “And what’s that?” “When you break rules, break ’em good and hard.

Granny Weatherwax looked out at the multi-layered, silvery world. ‘Where am I?’ INSIDE THE MIRROR. ‘Am I dead?’ THE ANSWER TO THAT, said Death, IS SOMEWHERE BETWEEN NO AND YES. Esme turned, and a billion figures turned with her. ‘When can I get out?’ WHEN YOU FIND THE ONE THAT’S REAL. ‘Is this a trick question?’ No. Granny looked down at herself. ‘This one,’ she said.

Was that what it meant to be a daughter? To have hair that smelled of your mother? To use the same soap? Or was it a shared passion, a shared frustration? Meg had never wanted to kneel in the dirt and plant bulbs like her mum; she longed to be considered - not with kindness, but with curiosity, with regard for her thoughts, with respect for her words. Was that what the mess on the floor was? Evidence of a curious mind? Fragments of frustration? An effort to understand and explain? Were Meg’s longings akin to Esme and was that what it meant to be a daughter?

—No tengas miedo —le susurré—. Somos como una sola persona. De pronto me abrumó la realidad de mis palabras. Ese momento era tan perfecto, tan auténtico. No dejaba lugar a dudas.   Me rodeó con los brazos, me estrechó contra él y hasta la última de mis terminaciones nerviosas cobró vida propia. —Para siempre —concluyó él y después nos sumergimos suavemente en el agua profunda. •Isla Esme, pág. 102

How much do you love me, Bella?" "Why?" She stared at me with pleading eyes, her long black eyebrows slanting up in the middle and pulling together, her lips trembling at the corners. It was a heart-breaking expression. "Please, please, please," she whispered. "Please, Bella, please - if you really love me... Please let me do your wedding." "Aw, Alice!" I groaned, pulling away and standing up. "No! Don't do this to me." "If you really, truly love me, Bella." I folded my arms across my chest. "That is so unfair. And Edward kind of already used that one on me." "I'll bet Edward would like it better if you did this traditionally, though he'd never tell you that. And Esme - think what it would mean to her!" I groaned. "I'd rather face the newborns alone." "I'll owe you for a decade." "You'd owe me for a century!

The only thing I regret about age are the wrinkles. But I have high hopes for this new almond cream! Do you know, that Italian apothecary promises the cream will make one's skin as soft as a baby's cheek? Once your child arrives, we'll have a viable comparison. Not having seen a baby in years, how would I know what its skin looks like?" "I'm glad my condition will prove to be of use," Esme said rather tartly.

In fact, you should take a nap this afternoon, because there won't be much sleep tonight. I mean to have you every way I can. I mean to intoxicate you and torment you so that you know precisely how I feel about you." His finger trailed down her cheek and tipped up her chin. "Don't mistake what is going to happen tonight." His voice was sinful, dark and hoarse. "You will never forget the imprint of my skin after tonight, Esme. Waste your life chitchatting with ladies in lace caps. Raise your child with the help of your precious Sewing Circle. But in the middle of all those lonely nights, you will never, ever, forget the night that lies ahead of us.

Tots nosaltres, pensa l'Esme, no som més que recipients a través dels quals passen les identitats: tenim faccions, gestos, costums manllevats i després els transmetem. Res no és pròpiament nostre. Quan venim al món som anagrames dels antecessors.

In a dark layer of Esme's memory there was a kiss. Vividly she recalled Mihai in the snow, naked and fanged. That kiss had conjured ancient passions a god had tried to erase, and Esme remembered the pressure of it and even knew the flavor of that black river. But it belonged to someone else. Tom's kiss, by contrast, wasn't passionate.Esme didn't even have time to close her eyes and tilt her face up to meet it, and it landed crooked and only half on her lips. It was clumsy and it ended quickly. And it was hers.

It isn’t all just kismet. Some of it is serendipity. Some of it is sagacity. A lot of it is doing the right thing simply because we can. The difference between those who don’t and those who do, is that those who do, do. It doesn’t get any more complicated than that.

But part of love is a record playing, a needle that drops over and over, repeat and repeat, until the voices are scratched and the song is tired. But that's all right, all the scratches and skips, the knowing what line comes next. Sometimes a song just gets you You know?

That day and night, the bleeding and the screaming, had knocked something askew for Esme, like a picture swinging crooked on a wall. She loved the life she lived with her mother. It was beautiful. It was, she sometimes thought, a sweet emulation of the fairy tales they cherished in their lovely, gold-edged books. They sewed their own clothes from bolts of velvet and silk, ate all their meals as picnics, indoors or out, and danced on the rooftop, cutting passageways through the fog with their bodies. They embroidered tapestries of their own design, wove endless melodies on their violins, charted the course of the moon each month, and went to the theater and the ballet as often as they liked--every night last week to see Swan Lake again and again. Esme herself could dance like a faerie, climb trees like a squirrel, and sit so still in the park that birds would come to perch on her. Her mother had taught her all that, and for years it had been enough. But she wasn't a little girl anymore, and she had begun to catch hints and glints of another world outside her pretty little life, one filled with spice and poetry and strangers.

Alice moved slowly—for her—around the big room, unnecessarily tidying the already immaculate space, straightening Esme’s perfectly hung garlands. She was re-centering Esme’s vases on the console at the moment. I could see from the way her face fluctuated—aware, then blank, then aware again—that she was searching the future.

You can work hard, and you should. Because even the most spectacular failure serves its purpose, setting you up for the success to come. And as long as you learn, no lesson is never a waste. But the stuff that really matters tends to come with a built-in timeline that’s usually a secret and almost always different than yours.

ear, ‘did you know that two and a half thousand left-handed people are killed every year using things made for right-handed people?

We tried to answer these questions with the Experience Sampling Method (ESM), the procedure I developed at the University of Chicago to study the quality of experience.

doctor called me Mrs Lockhart and he said, what provisions have your family made for when she comes home? For her and the baby?

I find that the more I define, the less I know. I spend my days trying to understand how words were used by men long dead, in order to draft a meaning that will suffice not just for our times but for the future.” He took my hands in his and stroked the scars, as if Lily was still imprinted in them. “The Dictionary is a history book, Esme. If it has taught me anything, it is that the way we conceive of things now will most certainly change. How will they change? Well, I can only hope and speculate, but I do know that your future will be different from the one your mother might have looked forward to at your age. If your new friends have something to teach you about it, I suggest you listen. But trust your judgement, Essy, about what ideas and experiences should be included, and what should not. I will always give you my opinion, if you ask for it, but you are a grown woman. While some would disagree, I believe it is your right to make your own choices, and I can’t insist on approving.” He brought my funny fingers to his lips and kissed them, then he held them to his cheek. It had the emotion of a farewell.

Mother and Father had said one night, just before my wedding, that her name would not be mentioned again and that they would thank me if I would act accordingly. And I did, act accordingly, that is, although I thought about her a great deal more than they realised. So I pulled out the letters and—

On his chair, the yellow slit of Greebo’s left eye opened lazily. “Get down, You,” said Granny, lifting the kitten off her head and putting it on the floor. “I daresay Mrs. Ogg has got some milk in the kitchen.” “Not much,” said Nanny. “I’ll swear something’s been drinking it!” Greebo’s eye opened all the way, and he began to growl softly. “You sure you know what you’re doing, Esme?” said Nanny Ogg, reaching for a cushion to throw. “He’s very protective of his territory.” You the kitten sat on the floor and washed her ears. Then, as Greebo got to his feet, she fixed him with an innocent little stare and took a flying leap onto his nose, landing on it with all her claws out. “So is she,” said Granny Weatherwax, as Greebo erupted from the chair and hurtled around the room before disappearing into the kitchen. There was a crash of saucepans followed by the groioioioing of a saucepan lid spinning into silence on the floor. The kitten padded back into the room, hopped into the empty chair, and curled up. “He brought in half a wolf last week,” said Nanny Ogg. “You haven’t been hexperimentingi on that poor kitten, have you?” “I wouldn’t dream of such a thing,” said Granny. “She just knows her own mind, that’s all.

Alice moved slowly—for her—around the big room, unnecessarily tidying the already immaculate space, straightening Esme’s perfectly hung garlands. She was re-centering Esme’s vases on the console at the moment. I could see from the way her face fluctuated—aware, then blank, then aware again—that she was searching the future. I assumed she was trying to see through the blind spots that Jacob and Renesmee made in her visions as to what was waiting for us in South America until Jasper said, “Let it go, Alice; she’s not our concern,” and a cloud of serenity stole silently and invisibly through the room. Alice must have been worrying about Irina again.

The dictionary is a history book, Esme. If it has taught me anything, it is that the way we conceive of things now will most certainly change. How will they change? Well, I can only hope and speculate, but I do know that your future will be different from the one your mother might have looked forward to at your age. If your new friends have something to teach you about it, I suggest you listen. But trust your judgement, Essy, about what ideas and experiences should be included, and what should not. I will always give you my opinion, if you ask for it, but you are a grown woman. While some would disagree, I believe it is your right to make your own choices, and I can't insist on approving.

And there is a soreness to her body, it aches, her head feels softened, muzzy. She has acquired a disturbingly acute sense of smell. The odour of print from a magazine someone is reading across a room can oppress her. She knows what will be on their plates at lunch just from sniffing the air. She can walk down the middle of the ward and can tell who has bathed this week and who has not.

Pastebėjau, kad didžiausios abejonės (už jas jau tapau pasmerkta, pasmerkta, pasmerkta 100 000 metų pragaruose) mane visada apima tuomet, kai esu pasiekusi ar bent jau bepasiekianti išsvajotą ramybę. Bet ar tikrai išsvajotą ramybę, o gal tik kokį vis subtilesnės ir subtilesnės saviapgaulės lygmenį?! Alanas Wattsas, buvęs anglikonų kunigas, vėliau tapęs vienu poetiškiausių dzenbudizmo skelbėjų Vakaruose, dažnai pateikdavo parabolę apie Mėnulį ir pirštą. Mėnulis jo prilyginamas tai Didžiajai Neįmenamybei, kuri vadinama Absoliutu, Dievu, Demiurgu, Viso, kas Esti, Esme, Šunjata, Vaiskiąja šviesa, Budos prigimtimi ir dar daugybe šventų, transcendentinių dalykų, į kuriuos rodo pirštas – bet kuri religinė doktrina. Parabolės moralas yra tas, kad dažniausiai rodantis pirštas yra supainiojamas su Mėnuliu arba net Juo palaikomas. Žmonės tik tą pirštą temato, į jį įsikimba, jį čiulpia jausdamiesi teisūs, ramūs ir saugūs. O Mėnulis šviečia kaip švietęs, bet į Jį jau niekas nė akių nebepakelia. Tik kartais beveik kiekvienas iš mūsų vis dėlto žvilgteli dangun ir Mėnulį išvysta. Ir apimta jį nuostaba, tikrų tikriausias apstulbimas, kaip galėjo to šviesulio nepastebėti anksčiau. Pirštas ištirpsta visa persmelkiančiame švytėjime, nes, pasak A. Wattso, religinė doktrina išnyksta, kai ji tampa tikrai reali ir veiksminga. Tą akimirką Mėnulį regėdamas žmogus staiga pamato visas savo paties sielos ir Visatos paslaptis. Atrodo, kad jis daugiau niekada nepamirš absoliutaus, lyg žaibas trenkusio aiškumo. Bet… dar po poros akimirkų visagalis žinojimas išsisklaido, pradingsta, lieka tik nenumalšinamas ilgesys.

Когато им поднасяха чая, хористката вдигна глава и ме хвана, че гледам към тяхната маса. Тя също ме погледна с тия броещи всичко очи и най-неочаквано ми хвърли дискретна усмивчица. Тя беше необикновено лъчезарна, каквито биват понякога дискретните усмивчици. Усмихнах ѝ се в отговор, но съвсем не така лъчезарно, защото трябваше да прикривам с горната си устна черната войнишка временна пломба между двата предни зъба. Докато се опомня, малката дама вече стоеше — със завидно самочувствие — до масата ми. Беше, струва ми се, с рокля на шотландски карета. Помислих си, че в такъв много, много дъждовен ден едно младо момиче трябва да носи само такава рокля. — Аз смятах, че американците презират чая — каза тя. Това не беше забележка на многознайница, а на момиче, което обича истината и статистическата точност. Отвърнах, че някои американци не пият друго освен чай. Поканих я, ако обича, да седне при мен.

Dr Naysmith peers at something in his notes. ‘You insisted clothes that belonged to you weren’t yours, a school blazer in particular,’ he reads, in a monotone, ‘you claimed to see yourself sitting on a rug with your family when you were, in fact, at some distance from them.’ Esme looks at the doctor’s lips. They stop moving and close over his teeth. She looks down at the file before him. The room seems to have very little air in it: she is having to breathe down to the bottom of her lungs and she is still not getting enough. The bones of her head feel tight, constricted, and the tremor has seized her limbs again. It is as if this doctor has peeled back her skin and peered inside her. How can he possibly know about that when the only person she told was— ‘How did you know that?’ She hears her voice waver, rise at the end of the sentence and she tells herself, watch it, be careful, be very careful. ‘How did you hear about those things?’ ‘That is not the question. The question, is it not, is whether you still experience these hallucinations?’ She digs her nails into the flesh of her thighs; she blinks to clear her head. ‘No, Doctor,’ she says. Dr Naysmith writes furiously in his notes and there must be something in what she says because, at the end of the appointment, he leans back in his chair, fingertips resting together in a cage. ‘Very good, young lady,’ he intones. ‘How should you like to go home soon?