Amie

“My granddaughter. She ran away to experience the nascent stirrings of love (le nascenti agitazioni dell'amore—Cress remembered the words from a poem) and now love has run away from her. She's somewhere up there—and he pointed to the black hills—cradling a broken heart, attempting to understand the complexity of human emotion. Why it's left her diminished when not long ago she felt like a conqueror. And here am I thinking what words can give the experience value. How to explain to her that the improbability of love, which she feels will last forever, will one day shine its light again. What words of consolation can be offered? What words of reassurance can I give her that a life lived without the object of her love is still worthwhile and hers for the taking?”
― Sarah Winman, Still Life

“I said you could never disappoint me, Alys. I'm proud of every inch of you. Every miniscule part of your being. Of your thoughts and your joy and your rage. The way you sing and navigate your way in this often godforsaken—
I love a girl.
(Pause.)
Lucky girl, I say—world.
They looked at one another and the distance halved. Ulysses said, A new year, Alys. I hope it's worthy of you.”
― Sarah Winman, Still Life

“So, time heals. Mostly. Sometimes carelessly. And in unsuspecting moments, the pain catches and reminds one of all that's been missing. The fulcrum of what might have been. But then it passes. Winter moves into spring and swallows return. The proximity of new skin returns to the sheets. Beauty does what is required. Jobs fulfil and conversations inspire. Loneliness becomes a mere Sunday. Scattered clothes. Empty bowls. Rotting fruit. Passing time. But still life in all its beauty and complexity.”
― Sarah Winman, Still Life

“...the world never turned out the way you wanted it to. It simply turned. And you hung on.”
― Sarah Winman, Still Life