“In the fifties… we were so busy being cool that we didn’t know how to say the word love”
“It was like we were all so busy trying to be happy or saying we were happy, but underneath there was nothing but bitterness, the kind that could only be bled out in ink, in unspoken word.”
“We were in love. When I say we, I don’t mean her and I. I mean me and my clone were in love with her. But she didn’t even know I existed, just as I didn’t know my clone existed. I still don’t know he exists.”
“We were always together. And we were happy. Looking at clouds. Rocking on the swings. Lying in the sun. We loved being busy doing nothing.”
“If a word in the dictionary were mispelled, how would we know?”
“How nice it would be to be dead if only we could know we were dead. That is what I hate, the not being able to turn round in the grave and to say It is over.”