Her Fearful Symmetry Quotes

There are several ways to react to being lost. One is to panic: this was usually Valentina's first impulse. Another is to abandon yourself to lostness, to allow the fact that you've misplaced yourself to change the way you experience the world.

Listen, sometimes when you finally find out, you realize that you were much better off not knowing.

You're the oddest person I've ever met, you couldn't get rid of me if you tried.

What is more basic than the need to be known? It is the entirety of intimacy, the elixir of love, this knowing.

Why do you have a cigarette lighter in your glove compartment?" her husband, Jack, asked her. "I'm bored with knitting. I've taken up arson

Sometimes a thing is—too much—and it has to be isolated and put away." Martin shrugged. "So what's in the boxes is—emotion. In the form of objects."-Her Fearful Symmetry

I'm bored with knitting. I've taken up arson.

Is it sad to fancy David Tennant when you're dead?

He was not in the house. He did not come back that night. Days went by, and at last she understood that he would not return at all.

Even her name seemed empty, as though it had detached itself from her and was floating untethered in his mind. How am I supposed to live without you? It was not a matter of the body; his body would carry on as usual. The problem was located in the word how: he would live, but without Elspeth the flavour, the manner, the method of living were lost to him. He would have to relearn solitude.

He thanked her and left the house in the mood of a shipwrecked man who has allowed the rescue ship to pass him by.

That’s the thing about living vicariously; it’s so much faster than actual living.

He had never realized, while Elspeth was alive, the extent to which a thing had not completely happened until he told her about it.

In the dim light of the computer screen he seemed otherworldly; Julia thought him beautiful, though she knew it was the beauty of damage.

That’s the thing about living vicariously; it’s so much faster than actual living. In a few minutes we’ll be worrying about names for the children.

I think play must have been invented so we wouldn't go mad thinking about certain things.

I guess no matter what your family is like, you're not surprised.

I don't want to boss anyone and I don't want to be bossed.

He would say her name over and over until it devolved into meaningless sounds - mah REI kuh, mah REI kuh - it became an entry in a dictionary of loneliness.

That is what madness is, isn't it? All the wheels fly off the bus and things don't make sense any more. Or rather, they do, but it's not a kind of sense anyone else can understand.

Not because they’re dead. Though unattainability is always attractive.

There was only the cemetery itself, spread out in the moonlight like a soft grey hallucination, a stony wilderness of Victorian melancholy.

Martin said, "It feels as though part of my self has detached and gone to Amsterdam, where it—she—is waiting for me. Do you know about phantom-limb syndrome?" Julia nodded. "There's pain where she ought to be. It's feeding the other pain, the thing that makes me wash and count and all that. So her absence is stopping me from going to find her. Do you see?

Being in love is…anxious,” he said. “Wanting to please, worrying that she will see me as I really am. But wanting to be known. That is…you’re naked, moaning in the dark, no dignity at all…I wanted her to see me and to love me even though she knew everything I am, and I knew her

When we were that young we invented the world, no one could tell us a thing.

We're squirrels in human form, she whispered. And so are you.

Sometimes a thing is---too much---and it has to be isolated put away.

It wasn't quite raining, but it wasn't exactly not raining either. She heard the driver squelching along the path behind her.

A bad thing about dying is that I've started to feel as though I'm being erased. Another bad thing is that I won't get to find out what happens next.

Each of them warmed to the sound of the other's voice. They lay in the dark together, in distant cities, each of them thinking, We were lucky this time. And they pressed their phones closer to their ears, and both of them wondered how much longer this separation could go on.

Jessica put out her hand and braced herself against the door jamb. She experienced one of those rare moments when understanding of the world alters and a previously impossible thing is admitted, if not understood.

I’m curious about things that people aren’t supposed to see—so, for example, I liked going to the British Museum, but I would like it better if I could go into all the offices and storage rooms, I want to look in all the drawers and—discover stuff. And I want to know about people. I mean, I know it’s probably kind of rude but I want to know why you have all these boxes and what’s in them and why all your windows are papered over and how long it’s been that way and how do you feel when you wash things and why don’t you do something about it?

The kissed surprised him because it had been so long since he'd kissed anyone but Elspeth. It surprised Valentina because she had hardly ever kissed anyone that way - to her, kissing had always been more theoretical than physical. Afterwards she stood with her eyes closed, lips parted, face tilted. Robert thought, She's going to break my heart and I'm going to let her.

Being in love is…anxious,” he said. “Wanting to please, worrying that she will see me as I really am. But wanting to be known. That is…you’re naked, moaning in the dark, no dignity at all…I wanted her to see me and to love me even though she knew everything I am, and I knew her.

He didn't take care of you; you had to take care of yourself.

You're my phantom limb, Mouse. I keep looking for you. I forget. I feel stupid, Mouse. Haunt me, find me, come back from wherever you are. Be with me.

Everything is still out there: the rooftops and chimneys, the graffiti, the office towers and the cyclists; soon there will be sheep and that immense sky the keep out in the countryside... Once I thought there were two realities, inner and outer, but perhaps that's a bit meagre; I'm not quite the same person I was last night...

Elspeth stood in the sun, letting it pour through her, watching the Kitten sleep. I want you. Elspeth felt depressed. She had never thought of herself as someone who would kill a beautiful white kitten while it napped. But apparently she was that sort of person. Don't you worry, Kitten. I'll put you right back.

You didn’t answer my question. I asked you about being in love. You said what it was like when your wife went away.” Martin sat down again. How young she is. When we were that young we invented the world, no one could tell us a thing. Julia stood with her hands clenched, as though she wanted to pound an answer out of him. “Being in love is…anxious,” he said. “Wanting to please, worrying that she will see me as I really am. But wanting to be known. That is…you’re naked, moaning in the dark, no dignity at all…I wanted her to see me and to love me even though she knew everything I am, and I knew her. Now she’s gone, and my knowledge is incomplete. So all day I imagine what she is doing, what she says and who she talks to, how she looks. I try to supply the missing hours, and it gets harder as they pile up, all the time she’s been gone. I have to imagine. I don’t know, really. I don’t know any more.

She's going to break my heart and I'm going to let her.

I fell asleep. But later that night I woke up. There was moonlight coming through the window, and shadows of tree branches fell onto the bed, waving gently in the breeze." "And then you saw the ghost?" James laughed. "Dear chap, the branches WERE the ghost. There weren't any trees within a hundred yards of that house. They'd all been cut down years before. I saw the ghost of a tree.

And so the twins had remained virgins. Julia and Valentina watched all of their high school and college friends disappear one by one into the adult world of sex, until they were the only people they knew who lingered in the world of the uninitiated. "What was it like?" they asked each friend. The answers were vague. Sex was a private joke: you had to be there.

He had never realised, while Elspeth was alive, the extent to which a thing had not completely happened until he told her about it.

How delicately language skirts the issue. How meaningless it is.

Is it sad to fancy David Tennant when you’re dead?" Elspeth

No.” Valentina closed her eyes. Of course not. “It’ll be great, Mouse. We’ll have our own apartment, we won’t have to work,

I'm going to fall apart...I cant--I don't know what to feel.

Everything hurt but she did not mind.

Ahem," she said. "What are you doing?" Jessica had a voice that rose and fell like a swooping kite. The children instantly stopped what they were doing and looked self-conscious, like cats that have fallen off something ungracefully and now sit licking themselves, pretending nothing has happened.

Tell us what it’s like … How is it? … How are you?’ Robert wanted

he said it quietly but with such intensity that Valentina fell in love with him, though she had no name for the feeling and nothing to compare it to.

Valentina

and

Elspeth died while Robert was standing in front of a vending machine watching tea shoot into a small plastic cup.

It would be a bad joke if I fell and broke myself now.

Why do I feel like I'm at the edge of a hole?

Sometimes a thing is--too much--and it has to be put away.

It's as though I'm a cloud, and he's expecting rain.

She was used to the profound intimacy of her life with Julia, and she did not know that a cloud of hope and wild illusion is required to begin a relationship.

Her life had a fearful symmetry at times. Fierce was its construction, and within its color and contour lay all the calamity of madness. Violence crept in with stillness or exploded with the ferocity of youth.

She watched a red double-decker bus swaying along beside them. Everyone inside looked tired and bored. "How can you be bored? You live in London! You're breathing the same air as the Queen and Vivienne Westwood!

Robert happened to look at Jessica while James was speaking. She was gazing at her husband with an expression that combined patience, admiration, and something very private that seemed to Robert like the distillation of a lifetime of marriage.

I want to be haunted...Haunt me...Come and put your arms around me...Or, if you can't do that, just look at me. That's all I need. Where are you? Not here. But I can't feel you gone either...I keep looking for you. I forget. I feel stupid...Haunt me, find me, come back from wherever you are. Be with me. I'm afraid.

Elspeth wasn’t keen. She’d lived with someone once and hated it. I think she felt differently towards the end, when I was taking care of her all the time. I think she realised that it could have worked, us living together. I’m fairly self-sufficient and so was she. She liked to be alone, knowing I was nearby if she wanted me.” “Our mom is like that.” “Is she?” “I think Dad is always kind of confused, you know, sometimes Mom seems like she’s just visiting, she’s super detached, and then she’ll be, like, really fun and sort of more present, you know?” Valentina peered up at him. “Was Elspeth like that?” Robert paused to sort out her syntax. “Yes,” he said. “Sometimes she was far away, even when she was right there.

Her life had a fearful symmetry at times. Fierce was its construction, and within its color and contour lay all the calamity of madness. Violence crept in with stillness or exploded with all the ferocity of youth. But in the calm silence that stretched between one kill and the next, her mind turned anew. No matter how disciplined she was, another daring plot was never far behind.

The door bell rang. Rilla turned reluctantly stairwards. She must answer it—there was no one else in the house; but she hated the idea of callers just then. She went downstairs very slowly, and opened the front door. A man in khaki was standing on the steps—a tall fellow, with dark eyes and hair, and a narrow white scar running across his brown cheek. Rilla stared at him foolishly for a moment. Who was it? She ought to know him—there was certainly something very familiar about him,— “Rilla-my-Rilla,” he said. “Ken,” gasped Rilla. Of course, it was Ken—but he looked so much older—he was so much changed—that scar—the lines about his eyes and lips—her thoughts went whirling helplessly. Ken took the uncertain hand she held out, and looked at her. The slim Rilla of four years ago had rounded out into symmetry. He had left a schoolgirl, and he found a woman—a woman with wonderful eyes and a dented lip, and rose-bloom cheek,—a woman altogether beautiful and desirable—the woman of his dreams. “Is it Rilla-my-Rilla?” he asked, meaningly. Emotion shook Rilla from head to foot. Joy—happiness—sorrow—fear—every passion that had wrung her heart in those four long years seemed to surge up in her soul for a moment as the deeps of being were stirred. She tried to speak; at first voice would not come. Then— “Yeth,” said Rilla.

When Olivia tugs at her glossy curls, I think about her hair in my mouth. Paper-dry, tasting of smoke and strawberry shampoo. The strands would break between my teeth. The sound they'd make—a tiny crunch, like a foot falling through snow—that sound would fill me.