“They are embossed on every song that was a hit that summer, in every novel I read during and after his stay,… — André Aciman Copy Share Image
“I could never think of him in New England. When I lived in New England for a while and was separated from… — André Aciman Copy Share Image
“You never did forgive me, did you?' 'Forgive? There was nothing to forgive. If anything, I'm grateful for everything. I remember good… — André Aciman Copy Share Image
“Like the subconscious, like love, like memory, like time itself, like every single one of us, the church is built on the… — André Aciman Copy Share Image
“All these years, whenever I thought of him, I'd think either of B. or of our last days in Rome, the whole… — André Aciman Copy Share Image
“I'm like you,' he said. 'I remember everything.' I stopped for a second. If you remember everything, I wanted to say, and… — André Aciman Copy Share Image
“Elio: What were you doing? Oliver: Thinking. Elio: About? Oliver: Things. Going back to the States. The courses I have to teach… — André Aciman Copy Share Image
“The picture would remind Oliver of the morning when I first spoke out. Or of the day when we rode by the… — André Aciman Copy Share Image
“In the weeks we'd been thrown together that summer, our lives had scarcely touched, but we had crossed to the other bank,… — André Aciman Copy Share Image
“I may have come close, but I never had what you had. Something always held me back or stood in the way.… — André Aciman Copy Share Image
“I look back on those days and regret none of it, not the risks, not the shame, not the total lack of… — André Aciman Copy Share Image
Don't all writers have a hidden nerve, call it a secret chamber, something irreducibly theirs, which stirs their prose and makes it tick and… — Andre Aciman Copy Share
“I wanted him to remember the morning on Monet's berm when I'd kissed him not the first but the second time and given him… — André Aciman Copy Share
Rituals are how we step into our private field of dreams, a small Elysium all our own. Rituals are made not just for us,… — Andre Aciman Copy Share
“I desperately wanted to give him something. By contrast, taking seemed so bland, so facile, so mechanical.” — André Aciman Copy Share
Proust is interested in minutiae because life, as he sees it, is seldom ever about things but about our impression of things, not about… — Andre Aciman Copy Share
“Well, since you're not going to do anything with me—can you at least read me a story? I'd settle for that. I wanted him… — André Aciman Copy Share
“This is heaven.” And I wouldn’t hear him say another word for at least an hour. There was nothing I loved more in life… — André Aciman Copy Share
“He loved the sticky taste. What had I done? I told him and pointed to the bruised evidence sitting on my desk. “Let me… — André Aciman Copy Share
“When had they separated us, you and me, Oliver? And why did I know it, and why didn't you?” — André Aciman Copy Share
“As we were swimming back, he asked as though it were an afterthought, “Are you going to hold last night against me?” — André Aciman Copy Share
“To be with you. To be with you, Oliver. With or without my bathing suit. To be with you on my bed. In your… — André Aciman Copy Share
“I thought I could ever want another living soul, gently, softly, and, with the kindness one Jew extends to another, work his way into… — André Aciman Copy Share
“Oliver: But there's the catch: you're still twenty years younger than those gathered around you, which is why I can be twenty-four in a… — André Aciman Copy Share
I cannot write if there is a sense of plenitude. I have to hypothesize that there is a loss. — Andre Aciman Copy Share
