Andre-aciman Quote by André Aciman

““I looked at him: I want one more kiss. I should, could, have seized him. By the next morning, things became officially chilly.””

André Aciman

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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…

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“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…

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Rituals are how we step into our private field of dreams, a small Elysium all our own. Rituals are made not just for us,…

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“I desperately wanted to give him something. By contrast, taking seemed so bland, so facile, so mechanical.”

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“The man who'll lay the last stone here isn't even born yet.”

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Proust is interested in minutiae because life, as he sees it, is seldom ever about things but about our impression of things, not about…

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“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 to read me a story. Something by Chekhov or Gogol or Katherine Mansfield. Take your clothes off, Oliver, and come into my bed, let me feel your skin, your hair against my flesh, your foot on…

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“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…

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“He loved the sticky taste. What had I done? I told him and pointed to the bruised evidence sitting on my desk. “Let me…

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“When had they separated us, you and me, Oliver? And why did I know it, and why didn't you?”

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“As we were swimming back, he asked as though it were an afterthought, “Are you going to hold last night against me?”

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“To be with you. To be with you, Oliver. With or without my bathing suit. To be with you on my bed. In your…

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“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 to read me a story. Something by Chekhov or Gogol or Katherine Mansfield. Take your clothes off, Oliver, and come into my bed, let me feel your skin, your hair against my flesh, your foot on…

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“But this thing that almost never was still beckons, I wanted to tell him. They can never undo it, never unwrite it, never unlive it, or relive it—it's just stuck there like a vision of fireflies on a summer field toward evening that keeps saying, You could have had this instead . But going back is false. Moving ahead is…

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“It was just that I was hoping we'd go together.' 'You mean like the other day?' he added, as though to help me say what I couldn't bring myself to say, but making things no easier by pretending to have forgotten the exact day. 'I don't think we'll ever do anything like that again.' I was trying to sound noble…

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“Finally his voice came through. 'Elio,' he said. I could hear my parents and the voices of children in the background. No one could…

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“If I put my foot on the floor and pretend that his is just behind the leg of the table, will that foot, like…

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“I’m not wise at all. I told you, I know nothing. I know books, and I know how to string words together—it doesn’t mean…

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“We were too close, I thought, I'd never been so close to him except in a dream or when he cupped his hand to…

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“I look back on those days and regret none of it, not the risks, not the shame, not the total lack of foresight. The lyric cast of the sun, the teeming fields with tall plants nodding away under the intense midafternoon heat, the squeak of our wooden floors, or the scrape of the clay ashtray pushed ever so lightly on…

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“This felt special. Like showing someone your private chapel, your secret haunt, the place where, as with the berm, one comes to be alone,…

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“The picture would remind Oliver of the morning when I first spoke out. Or of the day when we rode by the berm pretending not to notice it. Or of that day we'd decided to picnic there and had vowed not to touch each other, the better to enjoy lying in bed together the same afternoon. I wanted him to…

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