Six years after the best-selling, Pulitzer Prize–winning Empire Falls, Richard Russo returns with a novel that expands even further his widely heralded achievement. Louis Charles (“Lucy”) Lynch has spent all his sixty years in upstate Thomaston, New York, married to the same woman, Sarah,... read more
“I've always known that there's more going on inside me than finds it way into the world, but this is probably true of everyone.”
“Odd, how our view of human destiny changes over the course of a lifetime. In youth we believe what the young believe, that life is all choice. We stand before a hundred doors, chose to enter one, where we're faced with a hundred more and then choose again. We choose not just what we'll do, but who we'll be. Perhaps the sound of all those doors swinging shut behind us each time we select this one or that one should trouble us, but it doesn't Nor does the fact that the doors often are identical and even lead in some cases to the exact same place. Occasionally a door is locked, but no matter, since so many other remain available. The distinct possibility that choice itself may be an illusion is something we disregard, because we're curious to know what' behind that next door, the one we hope will lead us to the heart of the mystery.”
“To see a life back to front, as everyone begins to do in middle age, is to strip it of its mystery and wrap it in inevitability, drama's enemy.”
ODD, HOW OUR VIEW of human destiny changes over the course of a lifetime. In youth we believe what the young believe, that life is all choice.Highlighted by 69 Kindle customers
Can it be that what provides for us is the very thing that poisons us? Who hasn’t considered this terrible possibility?Highlighted by 66 Kindle customers
To see a life back to front, as everyone begins to do in middle age, is to strip it of its mystery and wrap it in inevitability, drama’s enemy. Or so it sometimes seems to me, Louis Charles Lynch. The man I’ve become, the life I’ve lived, what are these but dominoes that fall not as I would have them but simply as they must?Highlighted by 63 Kindle customers
Don’t even the best and most fortunate of lives hint at other possibilities, at a different kind of sweetness and, yes, bitterness too? Isn’t this why we can’t help feeling cheated, even when we know we haven’t been?Highlighted by 57 Kindle customers
Passion and independence, she seemed to be saying, were all fine and good, but ultimately not sustainable. In the end it came down to companionship, to friendship, to sacrifice, to compromise. Hadn’t Sarah known this all along? Suddenly she understood the question she’d really been trying to ask all summer. Which was more important: to love or be loved?Highlighted by 52 Kindle customers
I’ve always wanted to be the person he believed me to be, which at times has kept me from being a better one. A terrible realization, this.Highlighted by 46 Kindle customers
Bobby alone, it seems to me, invented both a life and a self to live it.Highlighted by 43 Kindle customers
The line of gray along the horizon is brighter now, and with the coming light I feel a certainty: that there is, despite our wild imaginings, only one life. The ghostly others, no matter how real they seem, no matter how badly we need them, are phantoms. The one life we’re left with is sufficient to fill and refill our imperfect hearts with joy, and then to shatter them. And it never, ever lets up. Blame love.Highlighted by 41 Kindle customers
The loss of a place isn’t really so different from the loss of a person. Both disappear without permission, leaving the self diminished, in need of testimony and evidence. This happened. I was there. Once upon a time there was a footbridge. My father stood just there. This story I’ve been composing so faithfully, now I think about it, probably is little more than my poor attempt to restore what was and is no more. Is this why Bobby paints? To leave his paintings as evidence?Highlighted by 30 Kindle customers
was a pederast? GatheringHighlighted by 10 Kindle customers
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