“I plucked one feather from my hood and left it on his forehead, for, his, head. For a souvenir, for a warning, for a lick of night in the morning. For a little break in the mourning.” — Max Porter Copy Share Image
“She was beaten to death, I once told some boys at a party. Oh shit mate, they said. I lie about how you died,… — Max Porter Copy Share Image
“I missed her so much that I wanted to build a hundred-foot memorial to her with my bare hands. I wanted to see her… — Max Porter Copy Share Image
“...we were different boys, we were brave new boys without a Mum. So when he told us what happened I don't know what my… — Max Porter Copy Share Image
“We will never fight again, our lovely, quick, template-ready arguments. Our delicate cross-stitch of bickers.” — Max Porter Copy Share Image
“The bell rang again. I climbed down the carpeted stairs into the chilly hallway and opened the front door. There were no streetlights, bins… — Max Porter Copy Share Image
“But I care, deeply. I find humans dull except in grief. There are very few in health, disaster, famine, atrocity, splendour or normality that… — Max Porter Copy Share Image
“I felt it would be years before the knotted-string dream of other people’s performances of woe for my dead wife would thin enough for… — Max Porter Copy Share Image
“I plucked one feather from my hood and left it on his forehead, for, his, head. For a souvenir, for a warning, for a… — Max Porter Copy Share Image
“Ghosts do not haunt, they regress. Just as when you need to go to sleep you think of trees or lawns, you are taking… — Max Porter Copy Share Image
“Grief felt fourth-dimensional, abstract, faintly familiar. I was cold.” — Max Porter Copy Share Image
“So I walked into their room in the navy blue middle of the night in summertime and listened to them breathing.” — Max Porter Copy Share Image
“It is everything. It is the fabric of selfhood, and beautifully chaotic. It shares mathematical characteristics with many natural forms.” — Max Porter Copy Share Image
