Wanda Quotes

I decided as long as I'm going to hell, I might as well do it thoroughly.

Her name is Wanda, not it. You will not touch her. Any mark you leave on her, I will double on your worthless hide.

Intensely selfish people are always very decided as to what they wish. They do not waste their energies in considering the good of others.

Perhaps without the lows, the highs could not be reached.

If you are too busy to pray, you are busier than God wants you to be.

Thank you, Wanda. My sister. I will never forget you. Be happy, Mel. Enjoy it all. Appreciate it for me.

And I started to cry again, realizing that it must be changing him, too, this man who was kind enough to be a soul but strong as only a human could be.

Something I've never seen in all my lives. I'm staring at... hope." - Wanda

Ian squeezed my hand and leaned in to whisper through all the hair. His voice was so low that I was the only one who could hear. 'I held you in my hand, Wanderer. And you were so beautiful.

Ian stood above me, his chest heaving with exertion and fury. For a second he turned away and put the door back in place with one swift wrench. And then he was glowering again. I took a deep breath and rolled up onto my knees, holding my hands out, palms up, wishing that some magic would appear in them. Something I could give him, something I could say. But my hands were empty. "You. Are. Not. Leaving. Me." His eyes blazed - burning brighter than I had ever seen them, blue fires. "Ian," I whispered. "You have to see that... that I can't stay. You must se that." "No!" he shouted at me. I cringed back, and, abruptly, Ian crumpled forward, falling to his knees, falling into me. He buried his head in my stomach, and his arms locked around my waist. He was shaking, shaking hard, and loud, desperate sobs were breaking out of his chest. "No, Ian, no," I begged. This was so much worse than his anger. "Don't, please. Please, don't." "Wanda," he moaned. "Ian, please. Don't feel this way. Don't. I'm so sorry. Please." I was crying too, shaking too, though that might have been him shaking me. "You can't leave." "I have to, I have to," I sobbed. And then we cried wordlessly for a long time.

Worry is the darkroom in which negatives can develop.

I know Okay, Sorry. I am. Look, I'm human. It's hard to be fair sometimes. We don't always feel the right thing, do the right thing

I do not wish to be a coward like the father of mankind and throw the blame upon a woman.

Woman's fatal weakness is to desire sympathy and comprehension. --"Wanda

And on the wedding contract, before me and my parents and the rabbi, and Wanda and Sergey for our witnesses, in silver ink he signed his name. But I won't ever tell you what it is.

Listen up, Wanda. I know exactly what you don't want to be. But we're human, and we're selfish, and we don't always do the right thing. We aren't going to let you go. Deal with it.

But I love you, “ he whispered. “Doesn't that matter?” “Of course it matters. So much. Can't you see? That only makes it more… necessary.” His eyes flashed open. “Is it so unbearable to have me love you? Is that it? I can keep my mouth shut, Wanda. I won't say it again. You can be with Jared, if that's what you want. Just stay.

Ian paused and leaned closer to me so that I couldn't seem to see anything around his face, just snow and sapphire and ink.

You know, it's funny; when you look at someone through rose-colored glasses, all the red flags just look like flags.

They're monsters." "That's what Edward thought." "Oh, yeah? He a friend of yours?" "No, Miss Librarian. Just a main character in a wildly popular vampire series.

What can I give you, Wanda?” he insisted. I took a deep breath and tried to keep my voice steady.“Give me a lie, Jared. Tell me you want me to stay.” There was no hesitation this time. His arms wound around me in the dark, held me securely against his chest. He pressed his lips against my forehead, and I felt his breath move my hair when he spoke. Melanie was holding her breath in my head. She was trying to bury herself again, trying to give memy freedom for these last minutes. Maybe she was afraid to listen to these lies. She wouldn't want this memory when I was gone. “Stay here, Wanda. With us. Withme. I don't want you to go. Please. I can't imagine having you gone. I can't see that. I don't know how to… how to…” His voice broke.

Remember as you go about your day that you may be the only Jesus some of your friends, neighbors, and family will ever see.

It's always better to be kind. I'm glad I know why." -Wanda

So,” Wanda cried, “a woman in furs is nothing more than a large cat, a charged electric battery?

I waited for him to say something more, but he was quiet. "Was there something you wanted?" I asked. He didn't answer right away, but I could feel him struggling, so I waited. "If I asked you something, would you tell me the truth?" It was my turn to hesitate. "I don't know everything," I hedged. "You would know this. When we were walking... me and Jeb... he was telling me some things. Things he thought, but I don't know if he's right." Melanie was suddenly very in my head. Jamie's whisper was hard to hear, quieter than my breathing. "Uncle Jeb thinks that Melanie might still be alive. Inside there with you, I mean." Melanie sighed. I said nothing to either of them. "I didn't know that could happen. Does that happen?" His voice broke and I could hear that he was fighting tears. He was not a boy to cry, and here I'd grieved him this deeply twice in one day. A pain pierced through the general region of my chest. "Does it, Wanda?" "Why won't you answer me?" Jamie was really crying now but trying to muffle the sound. I crawled off the bed, squeezing into the hard space between the mattress and the mat, and threw my arm over his shaking chest. I leaned my head against his hair and felt his tears, warm on my neck. "Is Melanie still alive, Wanda? Please?" He was probably a tool. The old man could have sent him just for this, Jeb was smart enough to see how easily Jamie broke through my defenses. Jamie's body shook beside me. Melanie cried. She battered ineffectually at my control. But I couldn't blame this on Melanie if it turned out to be a huge mistake. I knew who was speaking now. "She promised she would come back, didn't she?" I murmured. "Would Melanie break a promise to you?" Jamie slid his arms around my waist and clung to me for a long time. After a few minutes, he whispered. "Love you, Mel." "She loves you, too. She's so happy that you're here and safe." He was silent long enough for the tears on my skin to dry, leaving a fine, salty dust behind.

And then we jerked to a stop. Jared was blocking the exit. "Have you lost your mind, Ian?" he asked, shocked and outraged. "What are you doing to her?" "Did you know about this?" Ian shouted back, shoving me toward Jared and shaking me at him. "You're going to hurt her!" "Do you know what she's planning?" Ian roared. Jared stared at Ian, his face suddenly closed off. He didn't answer. That was answer enough for Ian. Ian's fist struck Jared so fast that I missed the blow - I just felt the lurch in his body and saw Jared reel back into the dark hall. "Ian, stop," I begged. "You stop," he growled back at me. He yanked me through the arch into the tunnel, then pulled me north. I had to almost run to keep up with his longer stride. "O´Shea!" Jared shouted after us. "I'm going to hurt her?" Ian roared back over his shoulder, not breaking pace. "I am? You hypocritical swine!" There was nothing but silence and blackness behind us now. I stumbled in the dark, trying to keep up. He jerked me along faster, and my breath caught in a moan, almost like a cry of pain. The sound made Ian stumble to a stop. His breathing was hoarse in the darkness. "Ian, Ian, I..." I chocked, unable to finish. I didn't know what to say, picturing his furious face. His arms caught me abruptly, yanking my feet out from under me and then catching my shoulders before I could fall. He started running forward again, carrying me now. His hands were not rough and angry like before; he cradled me against his chest.

NO!" She shouted through my lips. Jared caught her hands, then caught me against the wall before I could fall. I sagged, my body confused by the conflicting directions it was receiving. "Mel? Mel!" "What are you doing?" He groaned in relief. "I knew you could do it! Ah Mel!" He kissed her again, kissed the lips that she controlled, and we could both taste the tears that ran down his face. She bit him. Jared jumped back from both of us, and I slid to the floor, landing in a wilted heap. He started laughing, "That's my girl. You still got her, Wanda?" "Yes," I gasped. What the hell, Wanda? She screeched at me. Where have you been? Do you have any idea what I've been going through trying to find you? Yeah, I can see that you were really suffering.

Disappointments are like weeds in the garden. You can let them grow and take over your life, or you can rout them out and let the flowers sprout.

Ian didn't come. He just sat here with you--he said he didn't care what you looked like. He wouldn't let anyone else put a finger on your tank at all, not even me or Mel. But Doc let me watch this time. It was way cool, Wanda. I don't know why you wouldn't let me watch before. They wouldn't let me help, though. Ian wouldn't let anyone touch you but him.' Ian squeezed my hand and leaned in to whisper through all the hair. His voice was so low that I was the only one who could hear. 'I held you in my hand, Wanderer. And you were so beautiful.

One must pray first, but afterwards one must help oneself. God does not care for cowards. --"Wanda

What we love once, we love forever. Shall there be joy in heaven over those who repent, yet no forgiveness for them upon earth? --"Wanda

melanie: well, tell him wanda: what will happen then? melanie: you know what will happen. kyle broke the rules. jeb will shoot him, or they'll kick him ou. meybe ian will beat the snot out of him first.that would be fun to watch.

Ready to be humiliated, Wanda?" Wes taunted. "You may have taken the planet, but you're losing this game.

I need to touch and hold the book, stroke the cover, and hear the voices inside so I will always be able to feel the magic.

Women and our right to choose were going to be challenged with Ashcroft around. When Bush appointed Ashcroft, I went out and got me four abortions. I stocked up. The doctor was like, 'Listen, you're not pregnant.' I said, 'Hey, just shut up and do your job. I'm exercising my right while I can, dammit.

Mel? Mel, I love you. Mel, come back . Mel, Mel, Mel." It's Jared's voice, trying to call me back the way Wanda called back the Healer's host, the way she taught Kyle to call to Jodi. I can answer him. I can speak now. I can feel my tongue in my mouth, ready to move into whatever shape I ask it to. I can feel the air in my lungs, ready to push out the words. If I want this. "Mel, I love you, I love you." This is Wanda's gift to me, paid for with her silver blood. Jared and I, put back together again as if she'd never lived. As if she hadn't saved us both. If I accept this gift, I profit from her death. I kill her again. I take her sacrifice and make it murder. "Mel, please? Open your eyes." I feel his hand on my face, cradling my cheek. I feel his lips burn against my forehead, but I don't want them, not at this price. Or do I?

We would grow tired of it, Grandpa, if it were beautiful all the time. A little change from night to night is good for us.' 'For you, because you're young, Wanda. You have many, many evenings ahead of you. I don't. I want more good ones.

OTTO. Apes don't read philosophy. WANDA. Yes they do, Otto. They just don't understand it.

I really believe," said Wanda thoughtfully,"that your madness is nothing but a demonic, unsatisfied sensuality. Our unnatural way of life must generate such illnesses. Were you less virtuous, you would be completely sane.

Seriously, I don't need a gun. I'm easily annoyed. I would shoot people in my house that I invited over.

I truly love you, Ian. With my whole soul, I love you." - Wanda "I truly love you, too, my Wanderer." - Ian O' Shea

Te quiero de verdad Ian. …. Te quiero con toda mi alma.-Wanda

The individual who rebels against the arrangements of society is ostracized, branded, stoned. So be it. I am willing to take the risk; my principles are very pagan. I will live my own life as it pleases me. I am willing to do without your hypocritical respect; I prefer to be happy. The inventors of the Christian marriage have done well, simultaneously to invent immortality. I, however, have no wish to live eternally. When with my last breath everything as far as Wanda von Dunajew is concerned comes to an end here below, what does it profit me whether my pure spirit joins the choirs of angels, or whether my dust goes into the formation of new beings? Shall I belong to one man whom I don't love, merely because I have once loved him? No, I do not renounce; I love everyone who pleases me, and give happiness to everyone who loves me. Is that ugly? No, it is more beautiful by far.

It's a strange world" "The strangest

I only care for the subjective life; I am very German, you see: The woods interest me, and the world does not.

Take control of your destiny. Believe in yourself. Ignore those who try to discourage you. Avoid negative sources, people, places, things and habits. Don't give up and don't give in.

Wanda Bone Bouvier had that thing that makes a hound leap against its cage. It ws a quality that was partly a bonus from nature and partly learned from cheesecake calendars and Tanya Tucker albums.

He mistook, as the cleverest men often do mistake, in underrating the cruelty of women.

Hey Wanda! Hey Ian!" Jamie was all grins, his messy hair bouncing as he moved..."Guess what? Jared was saying at lunch that he didn't think it was fair for you to have to move out of the room you were used to. He said we weren't being good hosts. He said you should move back in with me! Isn't that great? I asked him if I could tell you right away, and he said that was a good idea. He said you would be in here." "I'll bet he did," Ian murmured. "So, what do you think, Wanda? We get to be roomies again!" "But Jamie, where will Jared stay?" "Wait - let me guess," Ian interrupted. "I bet he said the room was big enough for three. Am I right?" "Yeah. How did you know?" "Lucky guess" ... "Will you come back?" Jamie begged against my shoulder..."If that's what you want, Jamie. Okay." "Woo hoo!" Jamie crowed in my ear. "Cool! I'm gonna go tell Jared! I'll get you some food, too, okay?...You want something, Ian?" "Sure, kid. I want you to tell Jared he's shameless.

We are good at stories. We hoard them, like an old woman in a room full of boxes, but now and then we pull out our best, and spread them out. We talk of the bad years when the cotton didn't open, and the day my cousin Wanda was washed in the Blood. We buff our beloved ancestors until they are smooth of sin, and give our scoundrels a hard shake, although sometimes we can't remember exactly which is who.

Thanks, Jeb," Kyle said. "Shut the hell up, Kyle. Just keep you fat mouth shut. I'm dead serious about shooting you, you worthless maggot.

You fightin’ for ya life. Like I always told you, you use your heart to love but you use your head to fight.

There are wrongs for which religion makes no provision, and of which it has no comprehension. --"Wanda

Miénteme, Jared. Dime que quieres que me quede.- Wanda

What the hell time is it?" muttered the old man. He was always an aggressive sleeper. Sleep was one of the things he did best, and he loved it. Some look upon sleep as an unfortunate necessary interruption of life; but there are others who hold that sleep is life, or at least one of the more fulfilling aspects of it, like eating or sex. Any time my old man's sleep was interrupted, he became truly dangerous.

One show, I did a benefit for a feminist organziation....So it's all feminsts. Gloria Steinem is sitting right up front. I walked out and said, "Look here, I can't stay around here too long with you broads because I gotta get home and cook my man a nice hot dinner. Plus, he likes his blow job by nine forty-five." I though it was funny. They didn't. They didn't find anything funny. I thought, Oh Lord, I made these women mad. I stepped over the line. I continued. "Ladies, calm down. I'm just joking. He likes a blow job anytime.

I have graded my separate works from A to D. The grades I hand out to myself do not place me in literary history. I am comparing myself with myself. Thus can I give myself an A-plus for Cat’s Cradle, while knowing that there was a writer named William Shakespeare. The report card is chronological, so you can plot my rise and fall on graph paper, if you like: Player Piano B The Sirens of Titan A Mother Night A Cat’s Cradle A-plus God Bless You, Mr. Rosewater A Slaughterhouse-Five A-plus Welcome to the Monkey House B-minus Happy Birthday, Wanda June D Breakfast of Champions C Wampeters, Foma & Grandfalloons C Slapstick D Jailbird A Palm Sunday C

It's an insidious thing," Wanda said. "It never happens overnight. This kind of thing crept into our community a long time ago. It latched on. It fed on prejudice. Selfishness. Peoples inability to see life through someone else's eyes. And it grew, bigger and bigger, until we got to a point where some people don't even question why a cop should be allowed to shoot first and ask questions later.

I hurried to the southern corridor, relieved when I was safe in the blackness there. Relieved and horrified. It was really over now. I'm so afraid, I whimpered. Before Mel could respond, a heavy hand dropped on my shoulder from the darkness. "Going somewhere?" I was so tightly wound that I shrieked in terror; I was so terrified that my shriek was only a breathless little squeal. "Sorry!" Jared's arm went round my shoulders, comforting. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you." "What are you doing here?" I demanded, still breathless. "Following you. I've been following you all night." "Well, stop it now." There was a hesitation in the dark, and his arm didn't move. I shrugged out from under it, but he caught my wrist. His grip was firm; I wouldn't be able to shake free easily. "You're going to see Doc?" he asked, and there was no confusion in his question. It was obvious that he wasn't talking about a social visit. "Of course I am." I hissed the words so that he wouldn't hear the panic in my voice. "What else can I do after today?It's not going to get any better. And this isn't Jeb's decision to make." "I know. I'm on your side." It made me angry that these words still had the power to hurt me, to bring tears stinging into my eyes. I tried to hold onto the thought of Ian - he was the anchor, as Kyle somehow had been for Sunny - but it was hard with Jared's hand touching me, with the smell of him in my nose. Like trying to make out the song of one violin when the entire percussion section was bashing away... "Then let me go, Jared. Go away. I want to be alone." The words came out fierce and fast and hard. It was easy to hear that they weren't lies. "I should come with you." "You'll have Melanie back soon enough," I snapped. "I'm only asking for a few minutes, Jared. Give me that much." Another pause; his hand didn't loosen. "Wanda, I would come to be with you." The tears spilled over. I was grateful for the darkness. "It wouldn't feel that way," I whispered. "So there's no point.

Prayer is the key to each new day and the lock for every night.

Wanda's sole interests are getting high and getting laid. I can't picture her wasting valuable stoner hours on murder.

I've come to realize that the only way to deal with life's problems is to walk close to the Lord.

The world needs an army of Wandas—strong, sarcastic, unafraid women who say what they think and act straightforwardly, without apology or permission. Women who roar instead of flinch.

There was no hatred in your heart," I whispered. "That you existed is proof that we were wrong. We had no right to take your world from you, Walter. I hope your fairytales are true. I hope you find your Gladdie.

Many have referred to [Lewis] Carroll's rhymes as nonsense, but in my childhood world — Los Angeles in the '50s — they made perfect sense.

The world never leaves one in ignorance or in peace.

white criminals commit the biggest crimes.a brother might rob a bank. a white man will rob a pension fund. the brother is going to get ten to fifteen years because he had a gun. the white guy is going to get a congressional hearing because he had a job and a nice suit.

—Pero yo te quiero. -susurró- ¿Eso no importa? —Claro que importa. Y mucho, ¿no lo ves? Eso sólo lo hace más... Necesario. —¿Es tan insoportable que te quiera tanto? ¿Es eso? Puedo mantener la boca cerrada, Wanda. No volveré a decir nada más. Puedes quedarte con Jared, si eso es lo que quieres. Quédate con él.

I'll be writing as long as I can hold a pen in my curled, crimped arthritic hands and then I'll dictate it, if it comes to that. They'll have to pry my pen out of my cold, dead fingers - and even then, I'll fight 'em for it. Guaranteed.

We, Seth, Emperor of Azania, Chief of the Chiefs of Sakuyu, Lord of Wanda and Tyrant of the Seas, Bachelor of the Arts of Oxford University, being in this the twenty-fourth year of our life, summoned by the wisdom of Almighty God and the unanimous voice of our people to the throne of our ancestors, do hereby proclaim...

In this part of America, 'R's' are the dissidents of the alphabet. They won't be ruled. Behind closed doors, they conspire and print leaflets. They make love to many women. They smoke cigarettes in place of eating food. Then, in front of witnesses with no recourse to justice, they are pulled from their beds in the middle of the night. Some are imprisoned. Some silenced. Others go missing. A few reappear sealed up in the wall of another word if they are found at all. Thus, a thought that is valued is truly an 'idear.' Wanda comes out as Wonder or Wander and both fit her.

Tell me “The Subtle Briar” again,’ she asked. She knew I would still know it by heart. I whispered to her in the dark. ‘When you cut down the hybrid rose, its blackened stump below the graft spreads furtive fingers in the dirt. It claws at life, weaving a raft of suckering roots to pierce the earth. The first thin shoot is fierce and green, a pliant whip of furious briar splitting the soil, gulping the light. You hack it down. It skulks between the flagstones of the garden path to nurse a hungry spur in shade against the porch. With iron spade you dig and drag it from the gravel and toss it living on the fire. ‘It claws up towards the light again hidden from view, avoiding battle beyond the fence. Unnoticed, then, unloved, unfed, it clings and grows in the wild hedge. The subtle briar armors itself with desperate thorns and stubborn leaves – and struggling higher, unquenchable, it now adorns itself with blossom, till the stalk is crowned with beauty, papery white fine petals thin as chips of chalk or shaven bone, drinking the light. ‘Izabela, Aniela, Alicia, Eugenia, Stefania, Rozalia, Pelagia, Irena, Alfreda, Apolonia, Janina, Leonarda, Czeslava, Stanislava, Vladyslava, Barbara, Veronika, Vaclava, Bogumila, Anna, Genovefa, Helena, Jadviga, Joanna, Kazimiera, Ursula, Vojcziecha, Maria, Wanda, Leokadia, Krystyna, Zofia. ‘When you cut down the hybrid rose to cull and plough its tender bed, trust there is life beneath your blade: the suckering briar below the graft, the wildflower stock of strength and thorn whose subtle roots are never dead.

God gave people tear ducts for a good reason, and folks shouldn't be too stubborn to use them.

My earliest poems appear almost skeletal to me now - it seems I've learned to add meat, muscle and a nice suit of clothes.

Perfection is for the insecure.

No amount of money or recognition could fill the void in a person's heart the way Jesus' love did.

I think the worst one [indian mascot] is the Cleveland Indians' Big Chief Wahoo. It's just a red face on a baseball with a big, toothy grin. It's the Sambo of all other offensive mascots. I have never seen a Native American smile that hard before, not even at a casino opening.

Racism is exhausting and embarrassing, even in front of your best friend, who’s also Black. It’s as if there’s a stealth undercurrent of unwarranted assumptions, petty slights, and dismissals always ready to pop up and reinforce the idea that people of color aren’t good enough, they aren’t welcome.

Life is full of disappointments, but we have to take some risks. None of us can predict the future, for only God knows what's to come.

Faith is like a muscle, and it needs to be exercised in order to become strong.

Nunca sabrás cuánto tiempo nos queda en realidad.

Confession Who knows more of Wanda, the wan, than I do? And who knows more of Terry, the torn, than I do? And who knows more than I do of Ziggy, the Zap, fleeing the rap, using his eyes and teeth to spring the trap, than I do!      Or did. Good Lord, forbid that morning’s acre, held in the palm

She was like a queen who beholds the virgin soil of her kingdom invaded and wasted by a traitor. Any other thing she would have pardoned: infidelity, indifference, cruelty, any sins of manhood's caprice or passion, but who should pardon this? The sin was not alone against herself; it was against every law of decency and truth that ever she had been taught to hold sacred; it was against all those great dead, who lay with the cross on their breasts and their swords by their side, from whom she had received and treasured the traditions of honor and purity of race. It was those dead knights whom he had smote upon the mouth and mocked, crying to them: 'Lo! your place is mine; my sons will reign in your stead. I have tainted your race forever; for every my blood flows with yours!' The greatness of a race is a thing far higher than mere pride. Its instincts are noble and supreme. Its obligations are no less than its privileges; it is a great light which streams backward through the darkness of the ages, and if by that light you guide not your footsteps, then are you thrice accursed, holding as you do that lamp of honor in your hands. So she had always thought, and now he had dashed the lamp in the dust. --"Wanda

There's joy all around, if you only look for it.

If you're afraid of something, then reach deep inside and face it head-on.

Writing can make life enjoyable, write your dreams....

I believe miracles are to be prayed for, not wished for.

I treasure the books that I can read repeatedly and happily, as well as those that deprive me of sleep because I simply can’t set them down.

The shortest life of any I’d ever lived. The shortest, the most important, the most heartbreaking of lives. The life that would forever define me. The life that had finally tied me to one star, to one planet, to one small family of strangers. A little more time… would that be so wrong?

Because minor feelings are ongoing, they lend themselves more readily to forms and genres that are themselves serial, such as the graphic novel (the Hernandez Brothers, Adrian Tomine) or the serial poem (Wanda Coleman, Solmaz Sharif, Tommy Pico) or the episodic poetic essay (Bhanu Kapil, Claudia Rankine), but also, and more increasingly, are seen in literary fiction (Paul Beatty, Ling Ma).

It was, of course, the memory of Sophie and Nathan's long-ago plunge that set loose this flood [of tears], but it was also a letting go of rage and sorrow for the many others who during these past months had battered at my mind and now demanded my mourning: Sophie and Nathan, yes, but also Jan and Eva -- Eva with her one-eyed mis -- and Eddie Farrell, and Bobby Weed, and my young black savior Artiste, and Maria Hunt, and Nat Turner, and Wanda Muck-Horch von Kretschmann, who were but a few of the beaten and butchered and betrayed and martyred children of the earth. I did not weep for the six million Jews or the two million Poles or the one million Serbs or the five million Russians -- I was unprepared to weep for all humanity -- but I did weep for these others who in one way or another had become dear to me, and my sobs made an unashamed racket across the abandoned beach; then I had no more tears to shed, I lowered myself to the sand...and slept...When I awoke it was nearly morning...I heard children chattering nearby. I stirred...Blessing my resurrection, I realized that the children had covered me with sand, protectively, and that I lay as safe as a mummy beneath this fine, enveloping overcoat.

Is there a more pitiable spectacle than that of a wife contending with others for that charm in her husband's sight which no philters and no prayers can renew when once it has fled forever? Women are so unwise. Love is like a bird's song beautiful and eloquent when heard in forest freedom, harsh and worthless in repetition when sung from behind prison bars. You cannot secure love by vigilance, by environment, by captivity. What use is it to keep the person of a man beside you if his soul be truant from you?

There is nothing better for us to do than to take ourselves as we find ourselves and make the best of ourselves. If I find myself, as I did, the daughter of an artist who has left me with broadmindedness and a conveniently strong character to resist temptation, I take myself from there and accomplish what I can… I do not even deserve praise for doing my best, for that is my duty and I deserve to be blamed for not doing my best.

The goods were divvied up at the center line. It was a mob scene at first. “Here you go, Wanda,” Jamie said, ducking out of the group. He had his hands full of the bars, and water bottles tucked under his arms. “Thanks. Having fun?” “Yeah! Wish you could play.” “Next time,” I said. “Here you go…” Ian was there, his hands full of granola bars. “Beat ya,” Jamie told him. “Oh,” Jared said, appearing on Jamie’s other side. He also had too many bars for one. Ian and Jared exchanged a long glance. “Where’s all the food?” Kyle demanded. He stood over an empty box, his head swiveling around the room, looking for the culprit.

So I explained to Connie that she needed to send a green light by, for example, talking about her father in a relaxed manner for a few seconds; then, I said, the queries about him would start flooding in. But what struck me as so odd was that I had been acting on this understanding all my life without ever having brought it to consciousness. As the French (and the Paraguayans) say, “A fish does not know the water that it swims in.” And eighteen years later, when I was writing A Fish Called Wanda, I used this realisation, when Archie is trying to explain to Wanda the social straitjacket from which he is desperate to escape: Wanda, do you have any idea what it’s like being English? Being so correct all the time, being so stifled by this dread of, of doing the wrong thing, of saying to someone, “Are you married?” and hearing, “My wife left me this morning,” or saying, “Do you have children?” and being told they all burned to death on Wednesday. You see, Wanda, we’re all terrified of embarrassment. That’s why we’re so … dead. Most of my friends are dead, you know; we have these piles of corpses to dinner.

You can’t control God with a time clock. God moves in His own time. He knows what’s best for us even when we don’t and He knows the right time to give it to us. Julia listened attentively to Pastor Leonard. “He knows that if He gives us things prematurely, we won’t appreciate them and we will abuse them. We have to learn how to patiently go through the process. It’s through the process that we learn who we really are and who God is. The process is where He removes the crutches and takes us out of our comfort zone. He does this so He can teach us to completely rely on Him, not on our ability. Trust God through the process. Trust that He knows what’s best for you. Hold on to every word God has given you. God is not a man and He doesn’t lie. God is God enough to make every promise good.

non piangere, Wanda. Resterai con me.»«Otto vite» sussurrai stretta a lui, con voce spezzata. «In otto vite non ho mai trovato nessuno in grado di trattenermi su un pianeta, nessuno da seguire fra i pianeti. Non ho mai trovato un compagno. Perché proprio adesso? Perché proprio tu? Appartieni a un'altra specie. Come puoi tu essere il mio compagno?»«Che strano universo» mormorò. «Non è giusto» protestai, ripetendo le parole di Sole. Non era giusto. Com'era possibile che avessi finalmente trovato l'amore e fossi costretta ad abbandonarlo, a un passo dalla fine? Era giusto che la mia anima e il mio corpo non sapessero riconciliarsi? Era giusto che dovessi voler bene anche a Melanie?Era giusto che Ian dovesse soffrire? Meritava la felicità più di chiunque altro. Non era giusto, e nemmeno... logico. Come potevo infliggergli tanto dolore?«Ti amo» sussurrai.«Non dirlo come fosse un addio.»Invece dovevo. «Io, l'anima che chiamano Viandante, ti amo, Ian, anche se sei umano. E ciò non cambierà mai, qualsiasi cosa io diventi.» Scandii ogni parola per fargli capire che non mentivo. «Se anche fossi un Delfino, un Orso o un Fiore, non mi importerebbe. Ti amerò per sempre, per sempre ti ricorderò. Tu sarai il mio unico compagno.»Le sue braccia si irrigidirono, mi cinsero ancora più forte, e sentii la fu-ria scorrere dentro di loro. Era difficile respirare.«Tu non vai da nessuna parte, Viandante. Tu resti qui.» «Non puoi permettere che Mel resti intrappolata, è come ucciderla, Jeb.»Ian si chinò verso il cerchio di luce, la sua espressione di nuovo furiosa. «Non è la stessa fine a cui condanneresti Wanda, Jared? E tutti noi, se la porti via?»«Ma quale "tutti noi"! Tu vuoi salvare Wanda a spese di Melanie... è l'unica cosa che ti importa.»«Tu invece vuoi avere Melanie, a spese di Wanda, è l'unica cosa che importa a te! Perciò, visto che siamo pari, tocca decidere cos'è meglio per la comunità.»«No! Tocca decidere cos'è meglio per Melanie! Il corpo è suo!»

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.»

—and I say you still haven't answered my question, Father Bleu." "Haven't I, dear lady? I thought I stated that death is merely the beginning of—" "No, no, no!" Her voice was as high as a harpy's. "Don't go all gooey and metaphysical. I mean to ask, what is death the act, the situation, the moment?" She watched him foxily. The priest in turn struggled to remain polite. "Madame, I'm not positive I follow." "Let me say it another way. Most people are afraid of dying, yes?" "I disagree. Not those who find mystical union with the body of Christ in—" "Oh, come off it!" Madame Kagle shrilled. "People are frightened of it, Father Bleu. Frightened and screaming their fear silently every hour of every day they live. Now I put it to you. Of what are they afraid? Are they afraid of the end of consciousness? The ultimate blackout, so to speak? Or are they afraid of another aspect of death? The one which they can't begin to foresee or understand?" "What aspect is that, Madame Kagle?" "The pain." She glared. "The pain, Father. Possibly sudden. Possibly horrible. Waiting, always waiting somewhere ahead, at an unguessable junction of time and place. Like that bootboy tonight. How it must have hurt. One blinding instant when his head hit, eh? I suggest, Father Bleu, that is what we're afraid of, that is the wholly unknowable part of dying—the screaming, hurting how, of which the when is only a lesser part. The how is the part we never know. Unless we experience it." She slurped champagne in the silence. She eyed him defiantly. "Well, Father? What have you got to say?" Discreetly Father Bleu coughed into his closed fist. "Theologically, Madame, I find the attempt to separate the mystical act of dying into neat little compartments rather a matter of hairsplitting. And furthermore—" "If that's how you feel," she interrupted, "you're just not thinking it out." "My good woman!" said Father Bleu gently. "Pay attention to me!" Madame Wanda Kagle glared furiously. "I say you pay attention! Because you have never stopped to think about it, have you? If death resembles going to sleep, why, that's an idea your mind can get hold of, isn't it? You may be afraid of it, yes. Afraid of the end of everything. But at least you can get hold of some notion of something of what it's like. Sleep. But can you get hold of anything of what it must feel like to experience the most agonizing of deaths? Your head popping open like that bootboy's tonight, say? A thousand worms of pain inside every part of you for a second long as eternity? Can you grasp that? No, you can't, Father Bleu. And that's what death is at it's worst—the unknown, the possibly harrowing pain ahead." She clamped her lips together smugly. She held out her champagne glass for a refill. A woman in furs clapped a hand over her fashionably green lips and rushed from the group. Though puzzled, Joy was still all eyes and ears. "Even your blessed St. Paul bears me out, Father." The priest glanced up, startled. "What?" "The first letter to the Corinthians, if I remember. The grave has a victory, all right. But it's death that has the sting." In the pause the furnace door behind her eyes opened wide, and hell shone out. "I know what I'm talking about, Father. I've been there." Slowly she closed her fingers, crushing the champagne glass in her hand. Weeping, blood drooling from her palm down her frail veined arms, she had to be carried out. The party broke up at once.