“You know, babe." Her voice had an older woman's weary advice in it. "You're so hungry. You want so much." "Well." Flannery shrugged. "So what? I'll never get it." "You might. If you stop asking." "I'll never stop asking." "I… — Sylvia Brownrigg Copy Share Image
The gap between the inner and outer self is one I've found interesting, even essential, about the way we move through the world. In… — Sylvia Brownrigg Copy Share Image
Those who are apparently absent can feel more present than the people right in front of you. — Sylvia Brownrigg Copy Share Image
“We will never be together. Sweetheart. I am too brittle, hidden, and snappish, and you are too married. You are altogether too married.” — Sylvia Brownrigg Copy Share Image
“He wants me back." The closing punctuation of "obviously" hung in the air. The confidence in her! Anne would always have it: the certainty that there would be a trail of people following her, wanting her love and her beauty. Flannery saw that confidence, and through the polluted air now between them it no longer charmed her. Not tonight it… — Sylvia Brownrigg Copy Share
“Such nights are possible, and we survive them. It is a matter of sleeping next to the adored body you no longer have the right or inclination to love. Whether you are the one who casts off, or are the cast of yourself; whether your arms are the recoilers, or the ones that reach wantingly, then pull back, remembering they… — Sylvia Brownrigg Copy Share
“And how easy it was to leave this life, after all - this life that could feel so present and permanent that departing from it must seem to require a tear into a different dimension. There the bunch of them were, young hopefuls, decorating their annually purged dorm rooms with postcards and prints and favorite photographs of friends, filling them… — Sylvia Brownrigg Copy Share
It could not always be love in the afternoon and passion in the night, gifts given, notes written, meals fed to each other. It… — Sylvia Brownrigg Copy Share Image
“She'd have to start smoking. There would be no other way through this.” — Sylvia Brownrigg Copy Share Image
“I've been called promiscuous. Not a pretty word, is it? Makes you think of the gloop that comes out of your nose or what comes up your throat when you're gagging, if you're trying to swallow down something you didn't necessarily mean to swallow. Promiscuous: your face has to pucker when you say it. I prefer to think of myself… — Sylvia Brownrigg Copy Share
“The heart did ache, actually. She felt a dull grind of lack somewhere near her diaphragm, a pain that occupied the space of something… — Sylvia Brownrigg Copy Share Image
“Flannery had loved Anne truly. And truthfully. She had seen Anne clearly, not covered with the reflective glitter a person acquires if you view… — Sylvia Brownrigg Copy Share Image
