6 Quotes by Rosalie Knecht

On a Tuesday I came home from school to an empty house, watched the evening news, and then took Equanil caplets lifted from my mother.

She began to hear her own blood hissing in her ears. She looked at the edge of the woods, the field going over the hill, the stand of walnut trees around the bedrock at the top, and none of it scratched out any sound to match the seething in her veins. Her aliveness was monumental and the world was faint and distant and dark.

I had found the apartment in San Telmo with the help of a motherly rental agent in a pink suit who had tried to cheat me on her percentage not once but twice, and reacted with a broad and charming laugh both times I pointed it out, as if we were flirting on a date and I was removing her hand from my thigh.

She often thought about the power everybody had to ruin everybody else. You could do it by accident, just by showing up, or you could make the wrong decisions in such small pieces that by the time you realized what you were doing, it was too late.

He would be her currency of intimacy. Many people might know little things about her but there would be very few in her whole life, she thought, who would hear her secret. It would always be with her, right there at her elbow. That was what made you grown-up, she thought: having the past following you around. Having a past at all, really.

He bought me a fernet and did not, to my relief, try to explain to me what it was. Expat men had a mania for explaining the indigenous liquors.