“But this thing that almost never was still beckons, I wanted to tell him. They can never undo it, never unwrite it,… — André Aciman Copy Share Image
“I couldn't understand how boldness and sorrow, how you're so hard and do you really care for me? could be so thoroughly… — André Aciman Copy Share Image
“And on that evening when we grow older still we'll speak about these two young men as though they were two strangers… — André 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
“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
And on that evening when we grow older still we'll speak about these two young men as though they were two strangers… — André Aciman Copy Share Image
“In years to come, if the book was still in his possession, I wanted him to ache. Better yet, I wanted someone… — André Aciman Copy Share Image
“What does this say about the life you've lived, then?' 'Part of it— just part of it —was a coma, but I… — André Aciman Copy Share Image
“I looked at him: I want one more kiss. I should, could, have seized him. By the next morning, things became officially… — André Aciman Copy Share Image
“I had known it would hurt. What I hadn’t expected was that the hurt would find itself coiled and twisted into sudden… — André Aciman Copy Share Image
“And we'll want to call it envy, because to call it regret would break our hearts.” — André 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
“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
“Something bordering on nausea, something like remorse—was that it, then?—began to grip me and seemed to define itself ever more clearly the… — 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
