Status Updates From Miss Gomez and the Brethren

His weakness had made her what she was.

He'd told her, one time in a quarrel, that he'd grown the beard because he was ashamed of himself, and that the arthritis that made him limp about like a cripple had been caused by her, that it came from his nervous system.

She murmured: the truth, she said, was difficult to find: . . . the truth about anything, about why people did this or that, or resisted doing this or that, or were kind or cruel, or love or hated.

Her whole existence, she often thought, was nothing more than a string of errors.

God creates complicated patterns and then commands us to fight against what seems like destiny.

Everything else was a show you put on: you did your best to cover things up. You said this and that. . . You said it sounded lovely. . . you chatted on. . .

You had to get on with people no matter what they were like, for your own good as well as everyone else's.