“Oh no…!” Swanilde gasped, a dance of emotions going across her face. I could see sadness, anger, fear, and compassion-as well as so many more emotions that I couldn’t grasp. “My father-he’s dead!”

“I was sinking deeper in and losing my grasp at the surface. I was drowning. Drowning in an emotion I’d never felt before. Never wanted to feel—until now. Something so fresh, so new. Even as I tried to place this emotion to something, it left me feeling bewildered. I needed more. More of this toxic sweetness I couldn’t help but indulge.”

“In the world of the Machiguenga, sadness could be equated with anger, and anger was a perilous emotion, by which a foreigner could lose his life.”

“He saw so many emotions mingled on her face: anger disappointment, fear – and defiance. Like her daughter, thought Fenoglio again. So uncompromising, so strong. Women were different, no doubt about it. Men broke so much more quickly. Grief didn’t break women. Instead it wore them down, it hollowed them out, very slowly.”

“Just the sound of his voice twists my stomach into a knot of unpleasant emotions like guilt, sadness and fear. And longing. I might as well admit there’s some of that too.”

“Being detached means recognizing our emotions as what they are: clouds, sunbursts, weather. They pass. So rather than feed on my anger or sadness, rolling about in it like a pig in its own filth, I see that it is weather, and know that in time it will pass”