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“Yes it’s me, I myself, what I turned out to be, (…) I’m the one here in myself, it’s me. (…) Whatever I was, whatever I wasn’t—it’s all in what I am. Whatever I wanted, whatever I didn’t want—all of this has shaped me. Whatever I loved, or stopped loving—in me it’s the same nostalgia (Álvaro de Campos)”

“Yes, it’s okay to be afraid. It’s okay to hesitate before plunging from your comfort zone. It’s okay to have scars, pimples, insecurities, moles, cellulite, tremors, debts, redness, regrets, loneliness and uncertainty. It’s okay to have no idea what you’re doing. It’s okay to struggle with some things, while enjoying others. It’s okay to find joy in the beauty in life, even after a great loss. It’s okay to change. It’s okay to move on. And it’s okay to fear changing and moving on. Wherever you are, and whatever you are experiencing, is okay. You didn’t invent the universe and you didn’t invent the human condition. You don’t need permission to live whatever you’re living, even if it looks and feels different from anyone else’s life around you. And it’s okay to feel like you need that permission anyway.”

“Yes, it’s tough, it’s tough, that goes without saying. But isn’t waiting itself and longing a wonder, being played on by wind, sun, and shade?”

“Yes, it was a "beautiful" sermon, tugging the emotions and conjuring up pictures of greatness and peace. But were they talking about the decent peppery ordinary old man he knew, or had the subject strayed to the story of some saint of the past? Or were there perhaps two men being buried under the same name? One perhaps had shown himself to Ross, while the other had been reserved for the view of men like William-Alfred. Ross tried to remember Charles before he was ill, Charles with his love of cockfighting and his hearty appetite, with his perpetual flatulence and passion for gin, with his occasional generosities and meannesses and faults and virtues, like most men. There was some mistake somewhere. Oh well, this was a special occasion...But Charles himself would surely have been amused. Or would he have shed a tear with the rest for the manner of man who had passed away?”

“Yes, it was an "accident" - though I think of it as an incident, because I think things happen for a reason - but whatever I call it, I'm still aware I caused it. It wasn't on purpose, and I don't think it was reckless, but I have to live with not applying the hand brake on the snowcat, I have to face up tot the fact that "Not today, motherfucker" turned into all this. I know what I did to Alex; I'm deeply conscious of what I did to my family. I know I fucked up a New Year's promise to the kids; I know the trauma I put upon people. I love them so much, care about them so much, and I know I did something so bad to them - they, in turn, feel terrible because of something that happened to me. I was trying to save Alex, but still I created a disaster for them, and I broke their hearts.”

“Yes, it was real hatred - not the hatred we only read about in novels, which I do not believe in, hatred that is supposed to find satisfaction in doing some one harm - but the hatred that fills you with overpowering aversion for a person who, however, deserves your respect, yet whose hair, his neck, the way he walks, the sound of his voice, his whole person, his every gesture are repulsive to you, and at the same time some unaccountable force draws you to him and compels you to follow his slightest acts with uneasy attention.”

“Yes, it was trying to get her under, this world with its mighty self-satisfaction, with its smug rules of conduct, all made to be broken by those who strutted and preened themselves on being what they considered normal. They trod on the necks of those thousands of others who, for God knew what reason, were not made as they were; they prided themselves on their indignation, on what they proclaimed as their righteous judgments. They sinned grossly; even vilely at times, like lustful beasts—but yet they were normal! And the vilest of them could point a finger of scorn at her, and be loudly applauded. 'God damn them to hell!' she muttered.”

“Yes, it would be easier if I made all the decisions.” Lucky met Snap’s eye. “Easier for you. But do you want to be led by the nose all your life, as though you were living with longpaws, like a Leashed Dog?” He turned to give Sunshine a hard look. “Is that what you’ve fought and survived for—to let others boss you around? You want me to tell you what to think, what to eat, when to sleep, when to wake up? Even if it means you hardly eat at all? Even if you sleep in the draft and wake up freezing cold?”

“Yes," Jace said, unable to help himself, "I was trained to be an evil mastermind from a young age. Pulling the wings off flies, poisoning the earth's water water supply - I was covering that stuff in kindergarten. I guess we're all just lucky my father faked his own death before he got to the raping and pillaging part of my education, or no one would be safe.”

“Yes, Jeeves?" The man had materialized on the carpet. Absolutely noiseless, as usual. "A note for you, sir." "A note for me, Jeeves?" "A note for you, sir." "From whom, Jeeves?" "From Miss Bassett, sir." "From whom, Jeeves?" "From Miss Bassett, sir." "From Miss Bassett, Jeeves?" "From Miss Bassett, sir." At this point, Aunt Dahlia begged us for heaven's sake to cut out the cross-talk vaudeville stuff. Always willing to oblige, I dismissed Jeeves with a nod, and he flickered for a moment and was gone.”

“Yes, Keith shut up.” Roberta’s sly grin turned her face into a mask of pure evil. “So, let me get this straight. Miss Bitchy-Witch wants to go, no, is demanding to go to Hell and make a deal with the Devil, huh? Offering yourself in trade for a mutt and some ancient pussy? Very noble and honorable, Selena. Stupid, but just what I’d expect from a coward like you. Why fight, when you can surrender, right? Myself, I find your willingness to sacrifice your own life for those creatures rather disgusting and I don’t know what Father sees in you.”

“Yes. Kissing. Overrated." "I could change your mind," Zach said, surprising the hell out of them both. Why would he take something as simple as this banter as a challenge? "I don't know that I want to, but I feel right sure I could." "How arrogant. How typically male." "I suppose." He shrugged and reached for the wine bottle. "More?" She nodded, frowning now. "How do you know you could change my mind? It's been a long time since you... well—" "Over two years." The pain was there, an ache in his chest he imagined he would feel every time he thought of Hannah. And he thought of her every day. Dreamed of her about as often. But lately, maybe only in the past week, he'd begun to realize that his life had not ended with his wife's. He either had to die or start living again.”

“Yes, Kālāmas, it is proper that your have doubt, that you have perplexity, for a doubt has arisen in a matter which is doubtful. Now, look you Kālāmas, do not be led by reports, or traditions, or hearsay. Be not led by the authority of religious texts, not by the delight in speculative opinions, nor by seeming possibilities, not by the idea: 'this is our teacher'. But, O Kālāmas, when you know for yourself that certain things are unwholesome, and wrong, and bad, then give them up... And when you know for yourself that certain things are wholesome and good, then accept them and follow them.”

“Yes, Lilian Earton was a large woman. She was fat. There was no other word for it. But at the same time, there was something indefinable about her. Was it an inner light? A sparkle in her eyes? The way she spoke and moved and made things move around her? The man couldn’t have said exactly. He didn’t know the word “charisma,” but that was exactly what she had. She had personality that no layers of fat could hide. She was impressive.”

“Yes, Lily Millington was different from the models who had come before her, those pretty faces who reminded Lucy of the leaves that fell from the towering lime trees in autumn- the lushest of green in summer, but lasting only one season before they fell clean away; replaced the following year by a fresh new crop. Lily Millington knew about science and had seen the planet of Neptune through a telescope and there was something inside her that came out in Edward's paintings.”

“Yes, looking through the eyes of literature we may talk about the beauty of sadness! But in the eyes of truth, sadness is just saddening; there is no beauty there, only a touching desperation!”

“Yes. Love. The greatest man-made disaster in a world that's full of them....Poets say love is forever. Country singers, that it's something you drown in beer and cheap whiskey. Meanwhile, the men in white coats blame love on hormones, evolution, and chemicals in our brains. You could ask every person here what love is and you'd get a different answer every time.”