“MILLER WEAVES HER THEMES OF SECRECY, BETRAYAL AND FORGIVENESS INTO A NARRATIVE THAT SHINES.” – Time “FASCINATING . . . Despite having a loving husband, three vivacious daughters, a beautiful home in rural Massachusetts, and satisfaction in her work, Jo Becker’s mind is invaded by a... read more
“It's odd, I suppose, that when I think back over all that happened in that terrible time, one of my sharpest memories should be of the prelude, the long, beautiful, somber note I heard but chose to disregard.”
“I was remembering the way it feels at just that moment when you begin to turn, when you're poised exactly between the things in life you want to do and those you need to do, and it seems for a few blessed seconds that they are all going to be the same.”
“The attraction was that none of the rules from my world applied. With everything I saw, everything I did, I felt that doors were opening. My life had been so orderly, such a careful, responsible progression, one polite step leading logically to the next. In this crummy, second-rate world, I had a sense of liberation, of possibility, and I embraced even its most tawdry aspects.”
“It was only as I began to startle and disappoint others that I was aware of myself at all--that I came to understand, slowly, that I wasn't who I had pretended to be. And now, when I was pretending to be someone completely other than myself, I felt, for the first time, at home in my skin.”
“We have no right to let go of so much that shaped us; we shouldn't be allowed to forget.”
“Love is love wherever it lands.”
“Stop right there. Well enough. That's it, I'm afraid. Who in their right mind wants to be liked well enough?”
“We didn't know what would happen next: that was our great gift. The gift of youth. The thing we miss, it seems to me, no matter what we've made of our lives, as we get older. When we do know what will happen next. And next and next, and then last.”
“And that's the point, isn't it? The unforgivable things we've done. We've all done, I suspect. And the only way we can forgive ourselves is by redefining out lives.”
“It seemed suddenly that what had been the cornerstone of my existence was shifting sand. That what had been a given was merely a whim. It seemed possible that there was another life waiting somewhere out there for me. Mostly I felt it: a yearning, suddenly justified, for something other for myself. Better. More real somehow.”
“A door had opened and quickly closed. And once it was closed, it seemed irrelevant.”
“It seems we need someone to know us as we are--with all we have done--and forgive us. We need to tell. We need to be whole in someone's sight: Know this about me, and yet love me. Please.”
Preceded by The Bluest Eye, and followed by The Poisonwood Bible.
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