When God Was A Rabbit- Sarah Winman. Found this book surprisingly 'dark' in some place; though good nevertheless. It dealt with a range of issues yet still felt hopeful. Definitely recommend it, though with a word of caution that it does have a few sensitive subject.
I realise she was the colour that was missing.
Without a reason, why bother? Existence needs purpose: to be able to endure the pain of life with dignity; to give us a reason to continue.
When she flashed her film-star smile I could see why people were in love with here.
I've never felt more alive, or more myself. I've never felt so happy.
I let her have her moment. That uninterrupted moment when she could dream and believe that all I had was hers.
I've become forgettable.
Nothing stays forgotten for long, Elly. Sometimes we simply have to remind the world that we're special and that we're still here.
People are so different and wonderful, aren't they, Elly? Never forget that. Never give up on people.
And if you think you can't see me, close your eyes and there I'll be.
No amount of self-sufficiency could dispel the craving he still felt for that person we no longer talked about; that person who'd taken him apart and left a piece missing that none of us could find.
I don't care any more. He doesn't have to be mine, I just want him found, I want him safe, nothing more. He doesn't have to be mine.
He let it go and allowed possibility to once again enter his life.
I am here but I am not yours.
Do I believe in a mystery; the unexplained phenomenon that is life itself? The greater something that illuminates inconsequence in our lives; that gives us something to strive for as well as the humility to brush ourselves down and start all over again? Then yes, I do. It is the source of art, of beauty, of love, and proffers the ultimate goodness to mankind. That to me is God.That to me is life. That is what I believe in.
We all knew immediately that this would be a time to remember.
Wishes come true in a room like this.
I missed her. I would always miss her. I often wondered how it would have been if we could have experienced the coming years together. What would have been different? Could I have changed what happened to her? We were the guardians of a secret world; a lonely world without the other. For years I would flounder without her.
There was no left, no right any more in Ginger's world; life was lived straight ahead.
I hope people are kind to you. Stay strong.
We never wanted to conquer the world, only our fears. We didn't keep in touch. Somewhere, though, our memories had.
I opened the window to the smell of the city, to the noise, and my heart leapt as the lights illuminated my welcome, urging me onwards as it had done to millions of others, those wanting a different life. My brother had been one of the lured; brought by the promise of anonymity, not of gold, where he could be himself without the label of the past; without all those workings-out and crossings-out, the things we have to do before we come to an answer, the answer of who we are.
You had to translate his actions, for they were seldom accompanied by words, because his world was a quiet world; a disconnected, fractured space; a puzzle that made him phone me at three o'clock in the morning, asking me for the last piece of the border, so he could fill in the sky.
She'd found hers; had had that moment, that golden moment, forever untarnished by advancing years.
I wanted wellness to seize her again and drop her running into the colourful wake of London life.
We'd done it all, lived it all, hadn't we? So there wasn't much point.
It had never been good enough- not for me, not for others- but that night, it looked beautiful, it looked strong, and that was enough.
Words, once saved for a song, became her own.
He held her hand because he wasn't ready to let her go.
As I walked down I was overwhelmed with the gratitude of wellness. I walked out and breathed fresh air. I felt the sun on my skin. The world is a different place when you are well, when you are yong. The world is beautiful and safe.
There's a new star tonight.
Your liberty, your Jenny x
We play by our own rules, Elly, always have. That's all we can do. For us it works.
I thought this is how it would be if the sun died; the gentle shutting down of an organ, sleepy, no longer working. No explosion at the end of life, just this slow disintegration into darkness, where life as we know it never wakes up, because nothing reminds us that we have to.
We were all quiet for so long after, touched by the magnitude, the beautiful unfathomable magnitude of it all. This is what we are connected to. What we are all connected to. When the lights go out, so do we.
I saw them hold hands and jump; witnessed the last seconds of their friendship and never let go. Who reassured who? Who could do that? Was it done with words or a smile? That brief moment of fresh air when they were free, when they could remember how it was before; a brief moment of sunshine, a brief moment of friends holding hands. And they never let go. Friends never let go.
I let his questions evaporate into the darkness, where they joined the million other unanswered questions that hung above Manhattan that night; burdensome, and irredeemable; ultimately cruel. No one had answers.
This was breath.
People knew as they lay alone at night, that this was the beginning, the raw beginning that was to be their Present, their Now, their Future, their Memory.
I wrote about what I'd lost that morning. The witness of my soul, my shadow in childhood, when dreams were small and attainable for all. When sweets were a penny and god was a rabbit.
In the fading light, the lemons seemed to glow and they were beautiful, and his mouth watered, and there was a breeze and he could smell coffee, perfume, even mint. And for a moment he was all right because the world was still there, and the world out there was good, and when the world was good, there was hope.
I want to tell you so much but you never ask.
You see, you were the only person eho knew everything. Because you were there. And you were my witness. And you make sense of the fucked-up mess I become every now and then. And I could at least look at you and think, at least he knows why I am the way I am. There were reasons. But I can't do that any more and I feel so lonely. So forgive me.
It was strange, both vital and flawed, until I realised that maybe the need to be remembered is stronger than the need to remember.
I got on with life. It's what children do. And I became OK.
