Rosh

“He feels wonderfully alone. That is what love feels like to him. As if finally he’s touching the very outside of himself, pressed against the limits of his body, singular, replete.”
― Shannon Pufahl, On Swift Horses

“She thinks suddenly that what has spooked her is not good luck but the vivid fact of luck itself. Even with all her preparation and the long knowledge of the horsemen, her account of the weather and the odds, only preposterous chance could have led to this result. And if there was such good luck in the world, and if it could outpace her own agency and her own knowledge, then bad luck must be the same, and no luck, too. She has been seen and accommodated by luck, and she wants out of its sight line.”
― Shannon Pufahl, On Swift Horses

“Somehow his injury never made him seem hurt. It lent him instead an air of placatory misfortune, as if he had taken someone else’s trauma out of pity.”
― Shannon Pufahl, On Swift Horses

“There was a tendency, he knew, when thinking about people from the past, to believe that they’d remained the same while you yourself had evolved,”
― Anuk Arudpragasam, A Passage North