It's finished. Everything went past, without me.
Jennifer EganMots clés carpe-diem aging
[I]t may be that a crowd at a particular moment of history creates the object to justify its gathering.
Jennifer EganMots clés crowds psychohistory
Even the most secure houses achieve, in deep night, a state of relative unconsciousness.
Jennifer EganThen tell them, faintly, 'I heard screaming'. Men with a history of violence live in fear of retribution.
Jennifer EganKind of like saying 'no offense' when you've just said something offensive?
Jennifer EganNo one is waiting for me. In this story, I’m the girl no one is waiting for. Usually the girl is fat, but my problem is more rare, which is freckles: I look like someone threw handfuls of mud at my face.
Jennifer EganShe’s calm and happy now that Scotty loves her. I can’t tell if she’s actually real, or if she’s stopped caring if she’s real or not. Or is not caring what makes a person real?
Jennifer EganMots clés thoughtful
I’m sorry and I believe in you and I’ll always be near you, protecting you, and I will never leave you, I’ll be curled around your heart for the rest of your life.
Jennifer EganMots clés sad
Oh we'll know each other for forever' Bix said. 'The days of losing touch are almost gone.'
'What does that mean? ' Drew asks.
'We're going to meet again in a different place,' Bix said. 'Everyone we've lost, we'll find. Or they'll find us.
Mots clés friendship friends time
As you flail, knowing you’re not supposed to panic – panicking will drain your strength – your mind pulls away as it does so easily, so often, without your even noticing sometimes, leaving Robert Freeman Jr. to manage the current alone while you withdraw to the broader landscape, the water and buildings and streets, the avenues like endless hallways, your dorm full of sleeping students, the air thick with their communal breath. You slip through Sasha’s open window, floating over the sill lined with artifacts from her travels: a white seashell, a small gold pagoda, a pair of red dice. Her harp in one corner with its small wood stool. She’s asleep in her narrow bed, her burned red hair dark against the sheets. You kneel beside her, breathing the familiar smell of Sasha’s sleep, whispering into her ear some mix of I’m sorry and I believe in you and I’ll always be near you, protecting you, and I will never leave you, I’ll be curled around your heart for the rest of your life, until the water pressing my shoulders and chest crushes me awake and I hear Sasha screaming into my face: Fight! Fight! Fight!
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