“So what if he saw? Now he knows. What never crossed my mind was that someone else who lived under our roof,… — André Aciman Copy Share Image
“What I wanted to preserve was the turbulent gasp in his voice which lingered with me for days afterward and told me… — André Aciman Copy Share Image
“I always tried to keep him within my field of vision. I never let him drift away from me except when he… — André Aciman Copy Share Image
“You are the only person I’d like to say goodbye to when I die, because only then will this thing I call… — André Aciman Copy Share Image
Losing his wealth, his home, the life he had built, killed my father. He didn't die right away; it took four decades… — Andre Aciman Copy Share Image
Am I the only person who wishes he could escape his own life for a few hours? — Andre Aciman Copy Share Image
“Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the truth, maybe I didn't want things to turn abstract, but I felt I… — André Aciman Copy Share Image
“Or are "being" and "having" thoroughly inaccurate verbs in the twisted skein of desire, where having someone's body to touch and being… — André Aciman Copy Share Image
“I could spend the rest of my life like this: with him, at night, in Rome, my eyes totally shut, one leg… — André Aciman Copy Share Image
“I wanted to hear his window open, hear his espadrilles on the balcony, and then the sound of my own window, which… — André Aciman Copy Share Image
With Eric Rohmer - as with Mozart, Austen, James, and Proust - we need to remember that art is seldom about life,… — Andre Aciman Copy Share Image
“Over the years I'd lodged him in the permanent past, my pluperfect lover, put him on ice, stuffed him with memories and… — André Aciman Copy Share Image
“Or had I come with a far more menial purpose? To find him living alone, waiting for me, craving to be taken… — 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 Image
“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 Image
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 Image
“I desperately wanted to give him something. By contrast, taking seemed so bland, so facile, so mechanical.” — André Aciman Copy Share Image
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 Image
“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 Image
“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 Image
“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 Image
“When had they separated us, you and me, Oliver? And why did I know it, and why didn't you?” — André Aciman Copy Share Image
“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 Image
“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 Image
