Joan Wickersham

“A love story - your own, or anyone else's - is interior, hidden. It can never be accurately reported, only imagined. It is all dreams and invention. It's guesswork.”

“A story went around that someone had asked Mozart how he intended to refute his detractors."I will refute them with new works," he said.It was a confident, valiant thing for him to say, everyone thought. I thought so too, when I invented the story; and I still believe it today. (172)”

“What we did not say was that with these hurts an edge was worn down. It happens out of necessity -- it would not be safe to carry a knife that sharp. But something is lost too: that early, perfect, impractical sharpness, which is so beautiful but which cannot survive being seen. (171)”

“Time and judgment collaborate to produce farce, and farce in turn contains much truth; major characters upon the stage may turn out to be lackeys in disguise, while the figures we have overlooked in the midst of the frenetic action unmask and reveal themselves as divinities. (160)”

“But who is ever able to apply to her own current love affair a word like "similar"?”

“And while some healing does happen, it isn't a healing of redemption or epiphany. It's more like the slow absorption of a bruise.”

“It's Violent.You imagine it deafening, red, boiling-hot. It's like a comic book: the bright colors, the crude outlines, the words in capital letters: BANG!SMASH!CRUNCH! You think "smithereens."You crave the explosion.”

“Young" and "Poor" sounded so promising, the way my mother always told the story. Temporary conditions: poignant "befores" that existed only to contrast with the triumphant "afters.”

“The word "miss" is so wistful. As is the word "wistful," for that matter. They both have sighs embedded in them, that "iss" sound. Which also sounds like if.”

“Those moments of knowing are sharp and merciless, but then they fade out, like stars when the sky gets light in the morning. You know, and then you don't know.”