by M. E. Kerr
p.416 "I'm not in love...Do you know how pointless everything is when you're not in love?"
p.428 Poor little tyke was all alone in the world... almost... almost (Presque, as they say in Paris, and in Madrid they say casi. See how many languages you can say "almost" in.)
p.435 I couldn't really give either one of them a hard time. It was as though Central Casting had picked them to be The Nice Parents... He even smoked a pipe, which gave him a sort of philosophical air: the thoughtful type. A pharmacist by profession, you could imagine him ministering to people, wearing one of those short white coats people wear when they can't have the long one that means MD.
p.456 Algernon Charles Swinburne. (Never heard of him, right?)
This twisted poet of yore (a lush, yes; none of them are ever happy) inspired Nels to underline so many passages!
One afternoon Lenny took a good look at what it was that captured his pal's attention.
I wished we were together today,
Lost sight of, hidden way out of sight, Clasped
and clothes in the clothes in the cloven clay,
Out of the world's way, out of the light.
Oh, yes, and how about this one?
At the door of life, by the gate of breath,
There are worse things waiting for men than death.
Sick, sick sick... and he was all Lenny's.
p.458 "Jazzy, I know it's hard to get used to get used to, but Mommy has a right to go out. Daddy's in heaven."
"Daddy's not. He's rolling over in his grave."
"That's what Aunt Clara said. She said Daddy's probably rolling over in his grave."
p.470-471 Keats shoved an old tape of Tracy Chapman singing her songs of social conscience.
I mumbled something about wondering if a Mercedes Benz was the ideal place to listen to lyrics about homeless people and police brutality.
"Don't ruin everything, Fell," she said.
"Remember that old Billy Joel song--'We Didn't Start the Fire?'"
"We don't have to fan the flame, thought," I said, but she turned up the volume.
p.516 Psychoanalysis is just the care of the id by the odd.
p.544 Then very quickly, before the stinging behind my eyes turned into salt water, I refocused my thinking.
p.553 At that party he stood out like a Froot Loop in a china bowl filled with bonbons.
p.570 "[...] I like prevaricating... Doesn't that sound filthy?"
p.574 Now New York looked like some ex-lover whose beauty was still showing, even though she was homeless, and standing in the gutter with a needle in her arm. You wondered if it was too late to get back to what she used to be.
Writers mentioned in the book