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Oliver Markus Malloy

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“I admire the Queen greatly,” Casanova confided in me. “She can tie a man up by his thumbs, discuss philosophy with Diderot and Voltaire, and plot and scheme like a Dutch diplomat. She has voracious appetites, uses exquisite French scents, is kind to animals, fences like a Hungarian hussar, recreates herself on a white silk swing in a room full of mirrors, and gives afternoon tea parties for society ladies. Useful horsewoman, too.”

“My Bittersweet Penance I know I can’t always have what I want in life, and that’s okay. You could have loved me, and I could’ve been yours. We probably would have been happy... Probably!! But I love you enough to let you go, and I won’t be selfish this time. I accept that you’re not mine, and that’s okay. Who am I to get mad at you for not loving me back? Who am I to question you for loving someone else? But I love you enough to let you go, and I won’t be selfish this time. I have loved you from the shadows I could have come into the light and claimed you as mine. I could have told you how I feel about you, But I love you enough to let you go, and I won’t be selfish this time. You deserve the most genuine kind of happiness in life And if you find that kind of happiness with someone else, it’s okay. It truly is painful to see the one you love someone else. But I love you enough to let you go, and I won’t be selfish this time. If this is the only way for me to see you smile every day, If this is the only way to set things right and heal the hurt I have caused, I will happily let you go... If this is the only way for my redemption, I will happily embrace this penance I will let you go, but still love you... Loving you is my only option because YOU’RE MY BITTERSWEET PENANCE”

“I have decided, before the embers of my life dwindle anymore, to embark on a grand tour. With rumblings of revolution and troubled times to come, the old ways are passing on. I have had enough of sitting here twiddling with a quill writing my wretched memoirs. Twelve volumes. Mostly lies but amusing, nevertheless. It is time to return to life.”

“WHY DID YOU TELL PEOPLE MY ESSAY WASN’T TRUE?” “I don’t know,” he said, breaking out in a sweat. “Because I don’t believe it. I don’t believe anyone could be so well adjusted.” She typed. “WHY NOT?” “You said you look at your friends’ lives and feel like your own is better, which is fine, except that you don’t have any friends.” “HOW DO YOU KNOW THAT?” “I sit behind you. I notice things.” “WHAT KIND OF THINGS?” “It’s not your fault that you don’t have any friends. You always have an aide with you. No one is going to be themselves when there’s a teacher standing right there. Plus, you talked about parties and dances, but I don’t think you’ve even been to any, so how would you know what you’re not sorry to be missing?” He kept going. He started saying too much, telling her all the things he’d noticed—that she never said hi to other kids, that she never answered questions when people asked her things before class. “I’m not pretending I’m Mr. Popularity or anything. I’m just saying you’ve got this whole message that doesn’t seem believable. To me, anyway.” “I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU’RE SAYING THIS.” Her facial expressions were impossible to read. He couldn’t tell how mad she was. Probably pretty mad. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I shouldn’t have said anything. It’s none of my business. Like, none at all. I don’t know why I just said all that. I had this theory that you’re trying to be a certain kind of person, and that must be hard. But God, I’m hardly one to talk. So let’s forget the whole thing. Please. I’m sorry.” It startled him when her machine blurted out a single word. “NO!” “No what?” “DON’T BE SORRY. YOU’RE RIGHT. MY GOSH, I CAN’T BELIEVE HOW RIGHT YOU ARE.”

“La cosa ya estaba muy consolidada en los ambientes de la izquierda desde que Stalin instruyera a sus hordas para que cuando debatiesen con un conservador le llamasen fascista y así este tuviera que emplear parte de su tiempo y de sus palabras en desembarazarse de tan pesada etiqueta. La táctica dichosa está muy extendida en España desde los años treinta y cobró renovados furores con la llegada de la democracia en 1978. Desde entonces, la izquierda y los separatistas mantienen inmovilizada y acomplejada a la derecha española, que en cuanto osa defender una sola de sus posiciones es inmediatamente situada en el averno del fascismo y de la ultraderecha.”

“What is style but a form of silent speech? When I put together an outfit to wear, I am putting together chapters of a story that needs to tell itself to the world in merely a minute! When I choose an outfit to wear, I am choosing a speech, a certain flow of mind-to-skin that is important to be understood. Style is the sentiment that I make without needing to speak to anyone and it's also an internal conversation that I make with myself throughout the day, I share those intimate words every time I look into the mirror or every time I look at my photographs.”