Her mother had smelled of cold and scales, her father of stone dust and dog. She imagined her husband's mother, whom she had never met, had a whiff of rotting apples, though her stationary had stunk of baby powder and rose perfume. Sally was starch, cedar, her dead grandmother sandalwood, her uncle, swiss cheese. People told her she smelled like garlic, like chalk, like nothing at all. Lotto, clean as camphor at his neck and belly, like electrified pennies at the armpit, like chlorine at the groin. She swallowed. Such things, details noticed only on the edges of thought would not return. 'Land, ' Mathilde said, 'odd name for a guy like you.'' Short for Roland, ' the boy said. Where the August sun had been steaming over the river, a green cloud was forming. It was still terrifically hot, but the birds had stopped singing. A feral cat scooted up the road on swift paws. It would rain soon.' Alright Roland, ' Mathilde said, suppressing as sigh, 'sing your song. Lauren Groff
It is better to be hated for what you are than to be loved for what you are not.
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Unknown
Just when you think it can't get any worse, it can. And just when you think it can't get any better, it can.
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Nicholas Sparks
The one you love and the one who loves you are never, ever the same person.
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Chuck Palahniuk
Where there is love there is life.
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Mahatma Gandhi
It hurts to let go. Sometimes it seems the harder you try to hold on to something or someone the more it wants to get away. You feel like some kind of criminal for having felt, for having wanted. For having wanted to be wanted....
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Henry Rollins
More Quotes By Lauren Groff
In the end, fiction is the craft of telling truth through lies.
But my best friend from college was silent for a long time. She, of all of my friends, had seen the parade of sad wrecks through my life, date after bad date after bad boyfriend. She was the one who'd picked up the pieces after...
Perhaps living in fear can drive all devils out of a person.
Depressing thought: my friends were the girls I ate lunch with, all buddies from kindergarten who knew one another so well we weren't sure if we even liked one another anymore.
Tell me, why did Lotto write a war play? Because works about war always trump works about emotions, even if the smaller, more domestic plays are better written, smarter, more interesting. The war stories are the ones that gets the prizes. But your husband's voice...
