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I Quotes

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All I Quotes

“I knew," he murmurs. I can hear him over the music only because he says it right in my ear. "Right after we talked in the mall, I knew." "Knew what?" "That you were going to be the first girl to break my heart." My breath catches. I force the smile now. "I haven't broken anything yet, right?" "You will. Someday. But everybody breaks everything. For now we're fantastic. It's just, the better we get, the harder I realize the fall will be.”

“I knew he was unreliable, but he was fun to be with. He was a child’s ideal companion, full of surprises and happy animal energy. He enjoyed food and drink. He liked to try new things. He brought home coconuts, papayas, mangoes, and urged them on our reluctant conservative selves. On Sundays he liked to discover new places, take us on endless bus or trolley rides to some new park or beach he knew about. He always counseled daring, in whatever situation, the courage to test the unknown, an instruction that was thematically in opposition to my mother’s.”

“I knew he would date again. Probably within weeks, just like Max had done. I imagined all the women Jethro and Max would date, while they were “confused” and “not ready,” standing next to each other in a long factory line. Each of them would give these men something—a story, a weekend away, their attention, their advice, their time, a sexual adventure, an actual adventure—then they’d be forced to pass him along to the next relationship. These men would emerge at some point, full of all the love and care and confidence that had been bestowed upon them over the years, and they might commit to someone. Then, most certainly, another one. Then another one when that one got boring. Their greed would not be satisfied by one woman, by one life. They’d get to lead a great many lives. Life after life after life after life. Because these men wanted to want something rather than have something. Max wanted to be tortured, he wanted to yearn and chase and dream. He wanted to exist in a liminal state, like everything was just about to begin. He liked contemplating what our relationship might be like, without investing any time or commitment in our relationship.”

“I knew he would date again. Probably within weeks, just like Max had done. I imagined all the women Jethro and Max would date, while they were “confused” and “not ready,” standing next to each other in a long factory line. Each of them would give these men something—a story, a weekend away, their attention, their advice, their time, a sexual adventure, an actual adventure—then they’d be forced to pass him along to the next relationship. These men would emerge at some point, full of all the love and care and confidence that had been bestowed upon them over the years, and they might commit to someone. Then, most certainly, another one. Then another one when that one got boring. Their greed would not be satisfied by one woman, by one life. They’d get to lead a great many lives. Life after life after life after life. Because these men wanted to want something rather than have something. Max wanted to be tortured, he wanted to yearn and chase and dream. He wanted to exist in a liminal state, like everything was just about to begin. He liked contemplating what our relationship might be like, without investing any time or commitment in our relationship. Jethro liked talking about the home he would buy with Lola, but he didn't want to turn up to the viewing. They were like teenage boys in their rooms, coming up with lyrics to write in their notebooks. They weren't ready to be adults, to make any choices, let alone promises. They preferred a relationship to be virtual and speculative, it could be perfect. Their girlfriend didn't have to be human. They didn't have to think about plans or practicalities, they weren't burdened with the concern of another person's happiness. And they could be heroes. They could be gods. It was pathetic.”

“I knew he wouldn't come, but I howled anyway, and when I did, the other wolves would pass images of him to me of what he looked like: lithe, gray, yellow-eyed. I would pass back images of my own, of a wolf on the edge of the woods, silent and cautious, watching me. The images, clear as the slender-leaved trees in front of me, made finding him seem urgent, but I didn't know how to begin to look.”

“I knew Hoboken well during the 40’s & 50’s, and still remember the gray, steel-hulled Liberty and Victory Ships with their gun encasements on their bows, looming above the sheds on the waterfront along River Street. Much of this area has been reclaimed with fill and is very different looking now, with brownstones, parks and Sinatra Drive along the waterfront. Where I once walked is now gone! Where I rode the ferry to New York City and marveled at the ships in the Hudson River and the tall buildings in Manhattan has all changed. At that time I took grainy photos of my world with a Baby Brownie Camera, and still have some of them in an old album.”

“I knew I could get help and, more importantly, get better. Because suddenly I wasn’t bad, it was bad. It was no longer me, it was something else. I wasn’t schizophrenic, or psychotic, or any of the other things I thought I was. I had Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, or OCD. In that unforgettable moment, I took back some of my power – chunks of it flooding into my psyche, called in from afar, returning home to me.”