She took care of evyone with the same no-nonsense air of friendliness and good cheer that made her seem so paradoxically wholesome, as if she were convinced that being a slut and being a really nice person were just two things that naturally went together.
Tom PerrottaIt's not the cheating. It's the hunger for an alternative. The refusal to accept unhappiness.
Tom PerrottaIf anything, he seemed a little lonely, all too ready to open his heart at the slightest sign of interst.
Tom PerrottaThe thing was to wear a bathing suit and look good in it, to somehow make yourself worthy of the scenario you were volunteering for.
Tom Perrottait had expanded in a nice, welcoming way, becoming ever rounder and softer without losing its essential shapeliness
Tom PerrottaMots clés little-children
Maybe that's what we look for in the people we love, the spark of unhappiness we think we know how to extinguish.
Tom PerrottaNo, it's just like when you're dead and you try to remember being alive, it'll be like thinking of winter on the hottest day of the year. You'll know it's true, but you won't really believe it.
Tom PerrottaHe spun on his heels and jogged backward across the goal line, the ball raised triumphantly overhead, a gesture that looked arrogant when the pros did it on TV but felt right just then, allowing him to watch his teammates as they came charging joyfully down the field to join him. Todd spiked the ball and waited for them, his arms stretched wide, his chest heaving as if he were trying to suck the whole night into his lungs. All he wished was that Sarah had been there to see it, to know him as he’d known himself streaking down the wide-open field, not some jock hero scoring the winning touchdown, but a grown man experiencing an improbable moment of grace.
Tom PerrottaBecause, really, what was worse than lying wide-awake in the dark, watching your life drip away, one irreplaceable minute after another?
Tom PerrottaI'm halfway through my life, and as far as I can tell, the real lesson of the past isn't that I made some mistakes, it's that I didn't make nearly enough of them. I doubt I'll be lying on my deathbed in forty or fifty years, congratulating myself on the fact that I never had sex in an airplane with a handsome Italian businessman, or patting myself on the back for all those years of involuntary celibacy I endured after my divorce. If recent experience is any guide, I'll probably be lying in that hospital bed with my body full of tubes, sneaking glances at the handsome young doctor, wishing that I hadn't been such a coward. Wishing I'd taken more risks, made more mistakes, and accumulated more regrets. Just wishing I'd lived when I had the chance.
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