Joy

“Develop an interest in life as you see it; the people, things, literature, music - the world is so rich, simply throbbing with rich treasures, beautiful souls and interesting people. Forget yourself.”
― Henry Miller

“Such wounds to the heart will probably never heal. But we cannot simply sit and stare at our wounds forever.”
― Haruki Murakami, 1Q84

“Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?”
― Mary Oliver

“a while the anger made me feel that I didn’t love him. But I do. I know now that I still do.’ ‘Your ’usband?’ ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I still love Ben. And it’s wretched because I know that he doesn’t love me any more. That he doesn’t want me enough. He’s back in England and—’ her voice was suddenly thick with tears ‘—I don’t even know if he’s OK or not. I can’t… we don’t even speak.’ The sky, that had been darkening slightly, rumbled as if in sympathy. A single drop of rain fell on the ground between them. ‘It’s OK,’ Frédérique said, his expression kind. ‘You do not ’ave to explain.’ ‘But I do,’ she said. ‘Because you’ve done all this. And it’s so, so wonderful. And you deserve so much better. But I couldn’t say yes to your proposal, or even a proper date, when deep down I know that if Ben was to walk through the door right now, I’d take him back without question.’ There was a silence. Frédérique’s eyes became distant as he focused over her shoulder and she wondered whether he was trying not to cry. Her guests, standing taking in the spectacle, broadcast to all over loudspeaker, fell silent too, as if in sympathy.”
― Gillian Harvey, A Year at the French Farmhouse