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People wait their whole lives for the kind of happiness we have.
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Whenever people say they didn't like the main character of a book, they mean they didn't like the book. The main character has to be a friend? I don't get that.
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Everywhere you go, you see women more beautiful than yourself. You imagine him being attracted to them. You're drinking gasoline to stay warm.
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But then you hear that he can't hear you, you see that he can't see you. You are not here--and you haven't even died yet. You see yourself through his eyes, as The Generic Woman, the skirted symbol on the ladies' room door.
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Olive Kitteridge' is a masterpiece: The writing is so perfect you don't even notice it; the story is so vivid it's less like reading a story than experiencing it firsthand.
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In the cab to the station, he told me that when he was growing up he'd see a look of pleasure cross his mother's face and ask what she was thinking: she'd say, I was just thinking of your father. "That's how I want us to be," Archie said. I smiled. "What?" I said, "I was just thinking of your father.
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I live by Edith Whartons rule to get rid of anything neither useful nor beautiful. So I put the TV out on the street.
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It scares me. But then I get this big feeling, simple but exalted: He's like me, just with different details.
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During chemo, you're more tired than you've ever been. It's like a cloud passing over the sun, and suddenly you're out. But you also find that you're stronger than you've ever been. You're clear. Your mortality is at optimal distance, not up so close that it obscures everything else, but close enough to give you depth perception. Previously, it has taken you weeks, months, or years to discover the meaning of an experience. Now it's instantaneous.
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You can feel that he wants to own you - not like an object but like a good dream he wants to keep having. He lets you know that you already own him.
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He tried to smile, but it was just a shape his mouth made.
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It might sound ordinary for a woman to find out her husband's cheating on her, but not if you're the woman and it's your husband.
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I realize i will never hear from dena again, and i will never call her. it gives me a chill. it is a strange thing to end a friendship, even if you know it's what you want. it's like a death; all of a sudden your experience of a person become finite.
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Basically, all anyone has to do is ask me for fun details or tell me to be creative, and my mind turns to mud. I am instantly the most boring person you've ever met.
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I felt I couldn't lose anything else, but just then I realized I already had: I'd lost the hope that I would ever be loved in just that way again.
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The only relationships I haven't wrecked right away were the ones that wrecked me later.
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She seems sort of lost.' I thought, Lost how? How am I lost? Suddenly I felt lost.