howifeltabouthim

[howifeltabouthim]

I read the words again and again, words being as close to divinity as anything else I knew in this world . . .

Abigail Dean, from The Death of Us

[howifeltabouthim]

You, more than anybody, know what it's like to be the centre of your own sad universe.

Abigail Dean, from The Death of Us

[howifeltabouthim]

He must have suspected, in that way he had, that I would not be welcome. You may think that I'm the people person, just because I can better abide them, but Edward understands people. He celebrates the fact that everybody he meets will be different from him, while I always assume—hope, to be truthful—that people see the world just as I do.

Abigail Dean, from The Death of Us

[howifeltabouthim]

I chose to believe this was a conversation she had been waiting to have with Etta. I was the sorry stand-in, Etta being otherwise unavailable.

Abigail Dean, from The Death of Us

[howifeltabouthim]

However terrible it was, I would not look away.

Abigail Dean, from The Death of Us

[howifeltabouthim]

He did not expect her to hug him. She didn't seem to expect it herself. She held smack against him, cumbersome and sweet . . . He closed his eyes and kept her there for as long as he could, knowing that beyond this there was fear, the pain in his knee and the uncertainty of their watcher, and afternoon outside, threatening Monday.

Abigail Dean, from The Death of Us

[howifeltabouthim]

. . . he tried to remember what they had done, he and his father, when they had spent time together, although he feared that by not remembering, he had his answer.

Abigail Dean, from The Death of Us

[howifeltabouthim]

Edward had thought he was past most types of sadness, and long past mustering any sadness for his father, but when he walked into the church on the day of the funeral, he found he was wrong.

Abigail Dean, from The Death of Us

[howifeltabouthim]

Anne Carson, Norma Jean Baker of Troy

[howifeltabouthim]

He had also disposed of Lewis's annoying tendency to make everything so terribly suburban . . . The trouble was, of course, that Lewis operated in a simple world where, oddly, the supernatural was banished except for that bloody bore of a lion of his, perhaps the most humourless creation in all literature. It was all so unsatisfactory. If a rat started talking (despite grossly inadequate vocal arrangements and brain pan which did not allow for anything other than squeaks), his characters did not seem even briefly surprised. If a beaver offered you tea, your only reaction was to specify how many lumps of sugar you wanted. Lewis tried to invent an entire world, and created only a middle-class English suburb with a few swords.

Iain Pears, from Arcadia

[howifeltabouthim]

“We can make something truly wonderful of it, this time.””

— Iain Pears, from Arcadia

[howifeltabouthim]

Kaveh Akbar, from Martyr!

[Text ID: Love was a room that appeared when you stepped into it.]

[howifeltabouthim]

'It is beautiful here, you know,' she said quietly. 'We can make something truly wonderful of it, this time.'

Iain Pears, from Arcadia

[howifeltabouthim]

Emily Skaja, from a poem titled "No, I Do Not Want to Talk with You on Linkendin," featured in Brute: Poems

[howifeltabouthim]

'But that is for another day; there is no hurry. Now we must celebrate and be happy.'

Iain Pears, from Arcadia

[howifeltabouthim]

'How on earth did you get here?' 'Now that is a whole story of its own, and a very great one. It will take many hours to tell, but it is worth hearing.'

Iain Pears, from Arcadia

[howifeltabouthim]