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“I think what people were is less important than what they are. And what people are is less important than what they could be.”
― Dark Rise
― Dark Rise
“This,” Neil flicked his finger to indicate the two of them, “isn’t worthless.”
“There is no ‘this’. This is nothing.”
“And I am nothing,” Neil prompted. When Andrew gestured confirmation, Neil said, “And as you’ve always said, you want nothing.”
Andrew stared stone-faced back at him.”
― The King's Men
“There is no ‘this’. This is nothing.”
“And I am nothing,” Neil prompted. When Andrew gestured confirmation, Neil said, “And as you’ve always said, you want nothing.”
Andrew stared stone-faced back at him.”
― The King's Men
“Who am I? Who am I?”
“You’re Jude St. Francis. You are my oldest, dearest friend. You’re the son of Harold Stein and Julia Altman. You’re the friend of Malcolm Irvine, of Jean-Baptiste Marion, of Richard Goldfarb, of Andy Contractor, of Lucien Voigt, of Citizen van Straaten, of Rhodes Arrowsmith, of Elijah Kozma, of Phaedra de los Santos, of the Henry Youngs. You’re a New Yorker. You live in SoHo. You volunteer for an arts organization; you volunteer for a food kitchen. You’re a swimmer. You’re a baker. You’re a cook. You’re a reader. You have a beautiful voice, though you never sing anymore. You’re an excellent pianist. You’re an art collector. You write me lovely messages when I’m away. You’re patient. You’re generous. You’re the best listener I know. You’re the smartest person I know, in every way. You’re the bravest person I know, in every way. You’re a lawyer. You’re the chair of the litigation department at Rosen Pritchard and Klein. You love your job; you work hard at it. You’re a mathematician. You’re a logician. You’ve tried to teach me, again and again. You were treated horribly. You came out on the other end. You were always you.”
"And who are you?"
"I'm Willem Ragnarsson. And I will never let you go.”
― A Little Life
“You’re Jude St. Francis. You are my oldest, dearest friend. You’re the son of Harold Stein and Julia Altman. You’re the friend of Malcolm Irvine, of Jean-Baptiste Marion, of Richard Goldfarb, of Andy Contractor, of Lucien Voigt, of Citizen van Straaten, of Rhodes Arrowsmith, of Elijah Kozma, of Phaedra de los Santos, of the Henry Youngs. You’re a New Yorker. You live in SoHo. You volunteer for an arts organization; you volunteer for a food kitchen. You’re a swimmer. You’re a baker. You’re a cook. You’re a reader. You have a beautiful voice, though you never sing anymore. You’re an excellent pianist. You’re an art collector. You write me lovely messages when I’m away. You’re patient. You’re generous. You’re the best listener I know. You’re the smartest person I know, in every way. You’re the bravest person I know, in every way. You’re a lawyer. You’re the chair of the litigation department at Rosen Pritchard and Klein. You love your job; you work hard at it. You’re a mathematician. You’re a logician. You’ve tried to teach me, again and again. You were treated horribly. You came out on the other end. You were always you.”
"And who are you?"
"I'm Willem Ragnarsson. And I will never let you go.”
― A Little Life
“When the past is forgotten, then it can return. Only those who remember have the chance to stave it off. For the dark is never truly gone; it only waits for the world to forget, so that it may rise again.”
― Dark Rise
― Dark Rise
“Something is very wrong with Bunce. She's collapsed in the back seat like a dead rabbit. But I can't really focus on it because of the sun and also the wind and because I'm very busy making a list.
Things I hate, a list:
1. The sun.
2. The wind.
3. Penelope Bunce, when she hasn't got a plan.
4. American sandwiches.
5. America.
6. The band, America. Which I didn't know about an hour ago.
7. Kansas, also a band I've recently become acquainted with.
8. Kansas, the state. Which isn't that far from Illinois, so it must be wretched.
9. The State of Illinois, for fucking certain.
10. The sun. In my eyes.
11. The wind in my hair.
12. Convertible automobiles.
13. Myself, most of all.
14. My soft heart.
15. My foolish optimism.
16. The words "road" and "trip" when said together with any enthusiasm.
17. Being a vampire, if we're being honest.
18. Being a vampire in a fucking convertible.
19. A deliriously thirsty vampire in a convertible at midday. In Illinois, which is apparently the brightest place on the planet.
20. The sun. Which hangs miles closer to Minooka, Illinois, than it does over London blessed England.
21. Minooka, Illinois. Which seems dreadful.
22. These sunglasses. Rubbish.
23. The fucking sun! We get it - you're very fucking bright!
24. Penelope Bunce, who came up with this idea. An idea not accompanied by a plan. Because all she cared about was seeing her rubbish boyfriend, who clearly cocked it all up. Which we all should have expected from someone from Illinois, land of the damned - a place that manages to be both hot and humid at the same time. You might well expect hell to be hot, but you don't expect it to also be humid. That's what makes it hell, the surprise twist! The devil is clever!”
― Wayward Son
Things I hate, a list:
1. The sun.
2. The wind.
3. Penelope Bunce, when she hasn't got a plan.
4. American sandwiches.
5. America.
6. The band, America. Which I didn't know about an hour ago.
7. Kansas, also a band I've recently become acquainted with.
8. Kansas, the state. Which isn't that far from Illinois, so it must be wretched.
9. The State of Illinois, for fucking certain.
10. The sun. In my eyes.
11. The wind in my hair.
12. Convertible automobiles.
13. Myself, most of all.
14. My soft heart.
15. My foolish optimism.
16. The words "road" and "trip" when said together with any enthusiasm.
17. Being a vampire, if we're being honest.
18. Being a vampire in a fucking convertible.
19. A deliriously thirsty vampire in a convertible at midday. In Illinois, which is apparently the brightest place on the planet.
20. The sun. Which hangs miles closer to Minooka, Illinois, than it does over London blessed England.
21. Minooka, Illinois. Which seems dreadful.
22. These sunglasses. Rubbish.
23. The fucking sun! We get it - you're very fucking bright!
24. Penelope Bunce, who came up with this idea. An idea not accompanied by a plan. Because all she cared about was seeing her rubbish boyfriend, who clearly cocked it all up. Which we all should have expected from someone from Illinois, land of the damned - a place that manages to be both hot and humid at the same time. You might well expect hell to be hot, but you don't expect it to also be humid. That's what makes it hell, the surprise twist! The devil is clever!”
― Wayward Son
Cléo’s 2025 Year in Books
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