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I have hundreds of such reminiscences; but at times some one stands out from the hundred and oppresses me.
For some reason I believe that if I write it down I should get rid of it. Why not try?

Does not man, perhaps, love something besides well-being? Perhaps he is just as fond of suffering?
Perhaps suffering is just as great a benefit to him as well-being?
Man is sometimes extraordinarily, passionately, in love with suffering, and that is a fact. There is no need to appeal to universal history to prove that; only ask yourself, if you are a man and have lived at all.

insoportable el narrador

But what can a decent man speak of with most pleasure?

Answer: Of himself.

Well, so I will talk about myself.

'Oh, Nastenka, Nastenka!' I thought to myself. 'How much you've said with that one word. Such a love, Nas-tenka, at certain moments can make the heart grow cold and make one miserable. Your hand is cold, mine is as hot as fire. How blind you are, Nastenka! ... Oh, how unbearable is the happy person at certain moments! But I couldn't be angry with you! . . .'
Finally, my heart was overflowing.

"Oh, Nastenka! You know, we thank some people for merely living at the same time as we do. I thank you for the fact that I met you, that I will remember you for all my life!"

I have lived, as they say, keeping myself to myself, that is, utterly alone-alone, entirely alone. Do you know what it means to be alone?"
"But how alone? Do you mean you never saw any one?"
"Oh no, I see people, of course; but still I am alone.'
"Why, do you never talk to any one?"
"Strictly speaking, with no one."

The first night I finally slept alone, everything started out fine. Robert let me have the record player and I listened to Piaf and wrote, but I found I could not sleep. No matter what happened, we were used to sleeping in one another's arms. About three in the morning 1 gathered my muslin sheet around me and lightly tapped on Robert's door. He opened it immediately.
"Patti," he said, "what took you so long?"

Wordlessly we absorbed the thoughts of one another and just as dawn broke fell asleep in each other's arms. When we awoke he greeted me with his crooked smile, and I knew he was my knight.

Robert loved to hear of my childhood adventures, but when I asked about his, he would have little to say. He said that his family never talked much, read, or shared intimate feelings. They had no communal mythology; no tales of treason, treasure, and snow forts. It was a safe existence but not a fairy-tale one.
"You're my family," he would say.

🥲

—No sé. Hablas de una manera un poco extraña —replicó—. No estarás imitando al personaje de El guardián entre el centeno, ¿verdad?
—¡No! -Me rei.

JSKDKDKD

habrá un rasgo más de hombre que cogerte a una piba que está llorando

A cool evening breeze. Rainbows. Open roads. Friends. Fireworks. After a beat he added a tentative, Coach, but that was so repulsive he had to reject it. Tetsuji Moriyama was also a coach, and Jean refused to associate Rhemann and Wymack with that violent nightmare.

"My kids," Wymack had called the Foxes, and Rhemann had said the same this summer: "You're one of my kids now."
Fathers? Jean thought.

OH MY GODDDDDDDD

"Jean." Rhemann gave his shoulders a fierce squeeze. "You're safe. I've got you. Let go."
Jean crumpled in on himself with an awful sound, and the weight of Rhemann's arms around him wasn't enough to keep him from shattering.

nono soy un mar de lágrimas

He was afraid to open his mouth again lest he get sick, but at length managed a hesitant, "I didn't deserve-" heavy hands, heavier racquets, dark rooms, darker blood, teeth and knives and drowning, I'm drowning, I'm drowning "—what they did to me."

APAGUENME LA TELE

'Talk to me again and I'll break your other ankle, Knox," Zane said.
Jean put himself between them. "Do not threaten my captain, Zane."

🙏🏻

Jean moved without thinking, pressing a close-mouthed kiss to her temple the way she did whenever she thought he was unraveling. Cat's arm went so tight around him he felt two vertebrae in his spine pop, but the smile she turned on him was bright.

los amo 🥲

"True," Laila started to say, but Jean's fierce, "They are not your partners," was louder.

MARCA TERRITORIO JEAN

"No one will take you seriously if you learn French with a southern accent."
"Does that really matter?" Jeremy asked, studying Jean with a stare that felt prying. "I'm not learning French for anyone but you."

apaguenme la tele

When Jean only waved that off, Jeremy said in French, "Hello! My name is Jeremy Knox. What is your name?"
The sound of his language on Jeremy's lips was enough to give Jean pause. He counted his heartbeats as he studied Jeremy's face, committing the textbook-perfect sounds to memory

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

ok yo solo quería poner todas las citas

"You are an idiot," Jean accused him. "You were barely fast enough to save him last time. The next time someone takes a swing at him, you and your brisket lungs will have to watch him die. I wouldn't have given him to you if I'd known you would just throw him away so carelessly."

el concepto de jean DÁNDOLE neil a andrew [inserte patito fumando]

"I have no reason to fight," Kevin said. "Everything I want and need still lies ahead of me; it is a waste of time to look back so long as that holds true."
"Justice is not a waste of time."
"I don't care about justice. All I want in life is to play the perfect game."

OH

It still took the rest of the period for Jean to forgive the feel of her hands on his head; every time she shifted her grip his shoulders tightened for a blow that never landed. Only in the last minute of play did he stop noticeably reacting. Laila sighed and leaned forward, winding her arms around his shoulder in a slow hug.
"You'll be the death of us, Jean Moreau."
"I won't let me be," Jean said.

Jeremy idly wondered how much of that was at his trainees for failing, himself for wanting to hurt them, or Jeremy for keeping a close eye on him.