capy's reviews
308 reviews

Do not pretend that talking about our feelings is going to change anything. It will not. It will not give my brother a real school to go to, or put shoes on his feet. It will not bring a doctor to my mother or free my friends from the jails they rot in.

It's very late. At this hour, problems always seem huge and unsolvable but, in the daylight, things will seem better. 

Human beings never outgrow the need for positive attention.

I-I hardly know, sir, just at present — at least I know who I WAS when I got up this morning, but I think I must have been changed several times since then.

I almost wish I hadn't gone down that rabbit-hole—and yet—and yet—it's rather curious, you know, this sort of life!

Dost thou think, because thou art virtuous, there shall be no more cakes and ale?

In the innermost recess of my heart the light of instinct was twinkling, and I was as free of doubt as if I had heard the command, "Go!"
In retrospect I realize that fate was a ladder on which, at the time, I could not afford to miss a single rung. To skip out on even one scene would have meant never making it to the top, although it would have been by far the easier choice. What motivated me was probably that little light still left in my half dead heart, glittering in the darkness. Yet without it, perhaps, I might have slept better. 

It's so great, I thought, having tea in the afternoon with someone you really feel at home with. I knew how wildly he tosses in his sleep, how much milk and sugar he takes in his coffee. I knew his face in front of the mirror, insanely serious, as he tries to tame his mop of unruly hair with the hair dryer. Then I thought, if we were still together I would be worrying about how I've just chipped the nail polish on my right hand scrubbing the refrigerator.

I had never cried this way in my life. As the hot tears poured out, I remembered that I had never had a proper cry over my grandmother's death. I had a feeling that I wasn't crying over any one sad thing, but rather for many.

When I finished reading I carefully refolded the letter. The smell of Eriko's favorite perfume tugged at my heart. This, too, will disappear after the letter is opened a few more times, I thought. That was hardest of all.

Gilda: Yes, I hear voices. I hear my own voice louder than any of the others, and it's beginning to bore
me. Would you describe me as a super-egoist, Ernest?
Ernest: Yes, dear.
Gilda: Thinking of myself too much, and not enough of other people?
Ernest: No. Thinking of other people too much through yourself.
Gilda: How can anyone do otherwise?

If you were creative yourself you'd understand better. As it is, you know a lot. You know an awful lot. Your critical faculty is first rate. I'd rather have your opinion on paintings or books or plays than anyone else's I know. But you're liable to get sidetracked if you're not careful. Life is for living first and foremost. Even for artists, life is for living. Remember that.