You say you’re sure? Sure that you’re in love? How can you know it? You think love is so simple?
Poor creatures. What did we do to you? With all our schemes and plans?
There was another life that I might have had, but I am having this one.
It had never occurred to me that our lives, which had been so closely interwoven, could unravel with such speed.
One is not struck by the truth until prompted quite accidentally by some external event.
I think of my pile of old paperbacks, their pages gone wobbly, like they'd once belonged to the sea.
It was like there was some parallel universe we all vanished off to where we had all this sex.
I think genre rules should be porous, if not nonexistent.