It's hard to explain how an infatuation actually starts. It's a state so all-encompassing that it's almost impossible to remember how it felt to live inside your own head before it began. Everything that precedes it becomes a pathway that was always leading there. Time before is valuable only as a resource with which to create a persona, to bind the object of the infatuation closer. I had given my (partially fabricated) past life to Mizuko to make a story that in the end never got told. Or not by her. It is also hard to explain the intensity of the infatuation itself. There is rarely an explanation that seems reasonable to anyone but you. Unless you're part of a cult or viral phenomenon, so that when you weep outside the object of your infatuation's hotel room, you do so in the company of millions. Olivia Sudjic
I would like to be the air that inhabits you for a moment only. I would like to be that unnoticed and that necessary.
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Margaret Atwood
Friendship marks a life even more deeply than love. Love risks degenerating into obsession, friendship is never anything but sharing.
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Elie Wiesel
The world was collapsing, and the only thing that really mattered to me was that she was alive.
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Rick Riordan
When you have seen as much of life as I have, you will not underestimate the power of obsessive love.
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J.k. Rowling
If you ever looked at me once with what I know is in you, I would be your slave.
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Unknown
More Quotes By Olivia Sudjic
I went back to my room and spent all night contemplating whether it was possible in life not to be constantly let down. If it could ever be worth pinning your happiness to another person, when all other people ever seemed to do was disappear.
I became convinced that I was being watched. Because self was still leaking everywhere, a part of me began to think it was Mizuko rather than a stranger. I hoped that there might still be a reunion. I hoped it in the shy, sly way...
It never ceased to amaze me how she just had the facts always, in her head. It occured to me that if, or when, she died, a whole load of facts, a body of knowledge, might disappear without a trace.
Or maybe it was already too late; you only get one first love. She was mine, but I had not been hers. She was only going to look for some echo of it, and if I had made the right noises, that echo might have...
That night I dreamt about the roses laid at the wrong feet–the feet of the nurse. Each bit of the dream was like a hyperlink. I pressed on one, wanting answers, and it took me to another. I could never get to the meaning at...
