Duru

“I consoled myself with random prime numbers: 73. 131. 977. 1,213. 83,719. Each as indivisible as love, except by one and itself.”
― Matt Haig, The Humans

“At the playground, Evren always wanted me to tell the other children, the boys, that I was from America. It was never something I felt like doing: hunting down strange boys, to tell them about America. Wasn't that what I had earned, by always being different in America: the right to be the same, here?”
― Elif Batuman, Either/Or

“What kind of woman could capture Gus Everett’s heart?
My polar opposite. Not the kind who was always rude when she was grumpy, crying when she was happy, sad, overwhelmed. Who couldn’t help but let it all hang out.
“But I also just had this thought, like …” He hesitated. “Here’s someone I could never break. She didn’t need me. And she wasn’t gentle with me, or worried about saving me, or really letting me in enough to help her work things out either. Maybe it sounds shitty, but I’ve never trusted myself with anyone … soft.”
“Ah.” My cheeks burned and I kept my focus on his arm instead of his face.
“I saw that with my parents, you know? This black hole and this bright light he was always just trying to swallow whole.”
My gaze flickered to his face, the sharp lines etched between his brows.
“Gus. You’re not a black hole. And you’re not your father either.”
“Yeah, I know.” An unconvincing smile flitted across one corner of his mouth. “But I’m also not the bright light.”
Sure, he wasn’t a bright light, but he wasn’t the cynic I’d thought either.
He was a realist who was a little too afraid of hope to see things clearly when it came to his own life. But he was also exceptionally good at sitting with people through their shit, making them feel less alone without promises or empty platitudes. Me. Dave. Grace.
He wasn’t afraid for things to get ugly, to see someone at their weakest, and he didn’t fall over himself trying to talk me out of my own feelings. He just witnessed them, and somehow, that let them finally get out of my body after years of imprisonment.”
― Emily Henry, Beach Read

“We did not say much, preferring to remain with the echoes, the aftershocks of our declaration. Its stark subject-verb-object simplicity couldn't be matched or improved.”
― Ian McEwan, What We Can Know