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“There is nothing in the world more difficult to refuse than self-
righteous goodwill.”

“You are the only person in the world who has cooked a meal
meant solely for me.”
Her expression was tender and wholehearted. No mask. All my
doubts and questions seemed to dissolve.
“It’s my honor.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s nothing to apologize for.”
“That’s true. You’re right.”

"If we’d been standing under that same tree, I, too, would have
brushed the vivid petals off of Chi-chan’s shoulders.
No—that wasn’t all. Let me put it this way: had arrows showered
down on us instead of flowers, I would have shielded Chi-chan’s
body with my own."

“It’s true that the Empire’s coercive methods are unpleasant, but
the beautiful sakura are innocent of any crime. It would be a dream
for me to go see sakura blossoms with you"

"Whenever I start craving something, anything, my stomach burns
with this insatiable greed until I get my hands on whatever it is.
That’s the monster in me. And that’s why I’m so very grateful to
you! Ever since I arrived in Taiwan, you’ve been the only one to
appease this monster.”

“All I’m saying is, is it not much better to eat lychee here like
this than to visit Kappan Mountain or whatnot? Sweating through
our clothes just to catch a glimpse of a sight that humans have
arbitrarily dubbed ‘famous’ can make us forget that we are
surrounded by wonderful things every day. What a shame.”

Love the rich descriptions of food

Love the rich descriptions of food

Love the rich descriptions of food

‘When I was young, doctors were always telling me that I’d grow out of
it. Now they constantly tell me that I’ll just have to live with it. Growing
old’s no fun.’

She
savoured that phrase, the nick of time. Why nick? Then she thought: Nick
means a little cut. And that is what time does to one, it gives one these
endless little cuts, until sooner or later one of them finishes one off. Another
thought came to her: Nick means a prison. Time was the prison from which
there was never an escape – until, well, something like this bloody MS at
last prised open the door of one’s cell.

"People didn’t like to hear about other people’s illnesses, they only liked to talk about their own."

‘The worst thing about old age is not having to bother about anything. If
one is bothering about things, then one is still alive. And not already
embarked on the process of dying,’ he added.

Immersive

He
walked slowly out of the room into the room that was eventually, four years
later, to be let to someone else, so totally unlike him. Meg began to cry, first
softly, as though practising something unfamiliar to herself, and then in gust
after gust, each louder than the preceding one. She expected the noise
would bring him back, but it did not do so. Instead, she heard the sound of
the radio.

Had to read another one by Francis King

"It will be with me always—something to live with and something to die
with and something that is now so indissolubly a part of myself that I
cannot conceive of a future without it.
I can only pray again to the God in whom I have never believed: O God,
teach me to care and not to care."

"I started this book in the hope that the writing of it would be both
cathartic and therapeutic, but it has proved neither. The demon has not been
exorcised; I remain at once possessed and dispossessed."

Pam and I were unhappy; but ours was the unhappiness of those who
have acknowledged the deepest needs of their natures and have achieved
the perfect freedom that comes from service to those needs, however
fruitless that service. Antonio was unhappy because he only knew obscurely
what those deepest needs were, and because he was ashamed of them and
frightened of them.

Pam and I were unhappy; but ours was the unhappiness of those who
have acknowledged the deepest needs of their natures and have achieved
the perfect freedom that comes from service to those needs, however
fruitless that service. Antonio was unhappy because he only knew obscurely
what those deepest needs were, and because he was ashamed of them and
frightened of them.

Pam and I were unhappy; but ours was the unhappiness of those who
have acknowledged the deepest needs of their natures and have achieved
the perfect freedom that comes from service to those needs, however
fruitless that service. Antonio was unhappy because he only knew obscurely
what those deepest needs were, and because he was ashamed of them and
frightened of them.

‘Italians are not really domestic animals’;
but all three of us had been
determined to make of him a household pet. Pam and I had failed, as we
had always been doomed to fail; Chiaretta had succeeded, having caught
him young enough and trained him soon enough. He would always want to
escape and he would never escape.