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Quote by Rachel Cusk

“She was particularly jealous of the eldest, a boy, whose every movement she criticized. She watched him with an obsessiveness that was quite extraordinary to behold, and she was always putting him to work around the house, blaming him for the smallest evidence of disorder and insisting on her right to punish him for what she alone thought of as misdemeanor.”

Quote by Rachel Cusk

Book:Outline
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Work

Outline

This book explores the intricacies of the human mind, covering various aspects such as memory, perception, and consciousness. more

Author

Rachel Cusk
Rachel Cusk

Rachel Cusk, born in 1967, is a distinguished British novelist. Her works are renowned for their unique narrative style and profound insights into modern life. Cusk's writing spans a range of themes including personal experience, family relationships, and social change, and has garnered widespread acclaim from readers. more

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“He stopped a few inches from her. Brushing back the sides of his black velvet jacket, he put his hands on his hips, his booted feet planted apart, his legs spread in a decidedly aggressive stance. “You could say that,” he drawled in an awful voice. “Where the hell have you been?” “At—at Lady Dunworthy’s ball.” “Until dawn?” he sneered. “Yes. There’s nothing unusual in that. You know how late these things go—” “No, I don’t know,” he said tightly. “Suppose you tell me why the minute you are out of my sight you forget how to count!” “Count?” Victoria repeated, growing more frightened by the moment. “Count what?” “Count days,” he clarified acidly. “I gave you permission to be here for two days, not four!” “I don’t need your permission,” Victoria burst out unwisely. “And don’t pretend you care whether I’m here or at Wakefield!” “Oh, but I do care,” he said in a silky voice, stripping off his jacket with slow deliberation and beginning to unbutton his white lawn shirt. “And you do need my permission. You’ve become very forgetful, my sweet—I’m your husband, remember? Take off your clothes.” Wildly, Victoria shook her head. “Don’t make me angry enough to force you,” he warned softly. “You won’t like what happens if you do, believe me.” Victoria believed that wholeheartedly. Her shaking hands went to the back of her dress, awkwardly fumbling with the tiny fasteners. “Jason, for God’s sake, what’s wrong?” she pleaded. “What’s wrong?” he repeated scathingly, tossing his shirt on the floor. “I’m jealous, my dear.” His hands went to the waistband of his trousers. “I’m jealous, and I find the feeling not only novel, but singularly unpleasant.”

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“Accordingly, the loss of the beloved one through a rival, or through death, is the greatest pain of all to those passionately in love; just because it is of a transcendental nature, since it affects him not merely as an individual, but also assails him in his essentia aeterna, in the life of the species, in whose special will and service he was here called. This is why jealousy is so tormenting and bitter, and the giving up of the loved one the greatest of all sacrifices.”

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Book:Essays of Schopenhauer
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