“N complained of his unhappiness whereas I bore mine like a Brownie badge. I like to think I acted out less than he did, but I am probably wrong. I can´t see anymore.”

“right in this moment, I can´t even remember what unhappy feels like.”

“Since I became a novelist I have discovered that I am biased. Either I think a new novel is worse than mine and I don’t like it, or I suspect it is better than my novels and I don’t like it.”

“Day or night, I can’t see the wind. But at night, it feels like I can see it even less. What’s less visible than invisible?
”

“Why am I good to you?” he repeated, his lips brushing against mine as he spoke. “Because I can see you are broken. And I want nothing more than to put you back together.”

“He promised to take care of me, and yet I feel afraid. I feel like something is going wrong, very wrong, and that it will get even worse. I don't feel like Nick's wife. I don't feel like a person at all: I am something to be loaded and unloaded, like a sofa or a cuckoo clock. I am something to be tossed into a junkyard, thrown into the river, if necessary. I don't feel real anymore. I feel like I could disappear.”