the heart is an organ of fire

Аз вярвам, че срещнеш ли този, в когото ще се влюбиш, една част от духа ти започва да пише историята на любовта, като педантично подрежда спомени от миналото или случки, когато другият е минал покрай теб неподозиращ, точно както Клифтън, който сигурно някога ти е подал ръка, за да слезеш от колата, сляп за съдбата си. Всяка частица от тялото трябва да бъде готова за другия, всички атоми да се втурнат в една посока, за да се роди желание.

This history of mine, Herodotus says, has from the beginning sought out the supplementary to the main argument.' What you find in him are cul-de-sacs within the sweep of history—how people betray each other for the sake of nations, how people fall in love....

There are betrayals in war that are childlike compared with our human betrayals during peace. The new lovers enter the habits of the other. Things are smashed, revealed in a new light. This is done with nervous or tender sentences, although the heart is an organ of fire.

I shall have to learn how to miss you.

A love story is not about those who lost their heart but about those who find that sullen inhabitant who, when it is stumbled upon, means the body can fool no one, can fool nothing—not the wisdom of sleep or the habit of social graces. It is a consuming of oneself and the past.

He knows that the only way he can accept losing her is if he can continue to hold her or be held by her. If they can somehow nurse each other out of this. Not with a wall.

Nowadays he doesn't think of his wife, though he knows he can turn around and evoke every move of her, describe any aspect of her, the weigh of her wrist on his heart during the night.

Everything that ever happened to me that was important happened in the desert.