I love you, always. Time is nothing.
Audrey NiffeneggerTime means nothing."
~The Time Traveller's Wife
Martin said, "It feels as though part of my self has detached and gone to Amsterdam, where it—she—is waiting for me. Do you know about phantom-limb syndrome?" Julia nodded. "There's pain where she ought to be. It's feeding the other pain, the thing that makes me wash and count and all that. So her absence is stopping me from going to find her. Do you see?
Audrey NiffeneggerThe cure might be worse than the problem
Audrey NiffeneggerTo lose one child, Mr. DeTamble, may be regarded as a misfortune; to lose three looks like carelessness.
Audrey NiffeneggerEvery minute of his life since then has been marked by her absence, every action has lacked dimension because she is not there to measure against. And when I was young I didn't understand, but now, I know, how absence can be present, like a damaged nerve, like a dark bird.
Audrey NiffeneggerIt's living up to being happy that's the most difficult part.
Audrey NiffeneggerEverything seems simple until you think about it.
Audrey NiffeneggerThat's what alcoholics do. It's in their job description: fall apart and then keep falling apart.
Audrey NiffeneggerWhen the woman you live with is an artist, every day is a surprise. Clare has turned the second bedroom into a wonder cabinet, full of small sculptures and drawings pinned up on every inch of wall space. There are coils of wire and rolls of paper tucked into shelves and drawers. The sculptures remind me of kites, or model airplanes. I say this to Clare one evening, standing in the doorway of her studio in my suit and tie, home from work, about to begin making dinner, and she throws one at me; it flies surprisingly well, and soon we are standing at opposite ends of the hall, tossing tiny sculptures at each other, testing their aerodynamics. The next day I come home to find that Clare has created a flock of paper and wire birds, which are hanging from the ceiling in the living room. A week later our bedroom windows are full of abstract blue translucent shapes that the sun throws across the room onto the walls, making a sky for the bird shapes Clare has painted there. It's beautiful.
The next evening I'm standing in the doorway of Clare's studio, watching her finish drawing a thicket of black lines around a little red bird. Suddenly I see Clare, in her small room, closed in by all her stuff, and I realize that she's trying to say something, and I know what I have to do.
Tags: love woman freedom creativity artist birds
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