Status Updates From Last Summer in the City

Funny how the woman is always distant or detached or arrogant to the self-aggrandising or self-pitying male narrator, who glorifies her regardless

“I’m ready,” she said, as if a firing squad awaited her outside.

“Oh, you know,” she said. “One of those cold, unsatisfied types. An aesthete.”

“From the smile she gave me, anybody would have thought she’d spent the whole evening waiting for me. It was a smile that isolated the person it was addressed to, raising him to heights he would never have suspected he could conquer. A smile like a blow to the head, in which only one thing remained unequivocal. That she didn’t give a damn about you.”

"It’s always like that. […] It’s the best ones who leave."

"She's beautiful, my dear, and beautiful people are always unpredictable. They know that whatever they do, they'll be forgiven. […] It's even better than being rich, because beauty, my dear, never has a whiff of struggle or effort about it, but comes directly from God and that's enough to make it the only true human aristocracy, don't you think?"

“There was no trace of sorrow in her, or of passion. Her whole demeanor exuded independence, an independence so absolute as to make you think she hadn't come into the world like everybody else, in pain and blood, but had simply emerged, like a butterfly.”

“I thought about how all these farewells had changed my life. But it’s always like that, we are what we are not because of the people we’ve met but because of those we’ve left.”