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128 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 2020
‘— I stared into the portrait of Baudelaire and tried to understand what it is that he’s staring at, until it feels like we’re staring at the quivering marrow at the core of existence —’
‘Ornamental grass is worse than hosta, a plant that many people fell in love with in the early eighties. — Disgusting, disgusting in the garden; some might say that I was an aesthetically oversensitive child to have reacted to something as ordinary as ornamental grass and hosta, but when I reflect on it now, it’s possible that I reacted precisely because they were so ordinary. But I didn’t like bleeding hearts either, even though the flowers are pink and heart-shaped and hang from the stem. The only flowers I really loved were snowflakes and lilies of the valley. — If one is fortunate enough to stumble upon a belt of flowering lilies of the valley in the forest just as the sunlight filters through the trees and touches the forest floor and the green leaves and the small white bells so everything is luminous, one might experience the same quiet but effervescent joy that one feels when one understands that the person one loves loves one back, and if one imagines sunlight on ornamental grass in the same way, one will perhaps see that sunlight on ornamental grass isn’t anything more than what it is: sunlight, ornamental grass.’
‘Unhappy endings drive us nuts, and we think that people who are let out a back door, without even knowing they’re being shown to the back door, should be given a prize. Innocent and full of expectation, they have until now believed that they were being shown to the entrance of a palace or something, and are not prepared to find themselves suddenly outside a back door, looking down at a sad gravel backyard and the ugly wobbly metal staircase that leads down to it.’