3
" It has been a week since Ami died and this morning I woke suddenly hours before dawn, indeed the same hour as when my mother died. It was not a dream that woke me, but a thought. And with that thought I could swear I heard Ami's voice. But I am not frightened. I am joyous. Joyous with realization. For I cannot help but think what a lucky person I am. Imagine that in all the eons of time, in all the possible universes of which Dara speaks, of all the stars in the heavens, Ami and I came together for one brief and shining sliver of time. I stop. I think.Supposing in the grand infinity of this universe two particles of life, Ami and me, swirl endlessly like grains of sand in the oceans of the world -- how much of a chance is there for these two particles, these two grains of sand, to collide, to rest briefly together... at the same moment in time? That is what happened with Ami and me... this miracle of chance. "
7
" A dear and long-time friend,... asked me, " Jack, how long does it usually take you to write a book?" I replied, " Of course it depends on the project and its requirements, each book has its own rules. But for a statement to the world at large, once I've thought a book through and written it in my mind, it takes me around a week or so, depending on this and that, ordinarily at the rate of a chapter a day, but I've had some two-chapters day and some chapters have taken two days. And then of course there is revision, but around a week is about right." He seemed surprised, and I was surprised by his surprise, so I thought, maybe I'm wrong. I went home and wrote this book, at the perfectly normal pace of a chapter a day, as usual... "
10
" I found, increasingly, that I did not particularly care and I tried to fake a little kindness, a little sweetness, tried to mirror Luna back at herself, but that exhausted me after a week and I concluded that I was not meant for this sort of thing, friends, friendliness, no, I wasn't meant for it. "
― Catherine Lacey , Nobody Is Ever Missing
18
" It's that feeling you get somehow knowing that something great is about to happen... about to happen.
While every passing day nothing great really does happen. You wake up, go to classes, study, sleep and wait for another monotonous day.
You know the great day is not tomorrow, not even the day after, not even in a week or a month's time.
But it says it will come soon, the way you live your life, one day at a time, only to realize 20 years have elapsed effortlessly.
It will come soon, the way you meet someone without expecting or knowing that you are going to have so much fun together.
It will come soon, the way dreams come true overnight- demanding years of perspiration, ironically.
It will come soon like a gush of cold air in a hot afternoon.
It will come soon like a stranger you feel you have already met.
It will come like a guest who would be here to stay.
It will come like an eternity, a serendipity, an irony.
It will come when it is time for it to come, the way you fall asleep and dreams arrive from a distant land, surely but stealthily. "
― Sanhita Baruah
19
" When the woman you live with is an artist, every day is a surprise. Clare has turned the second bedroom into a wonder cabinet, full of small sculptures and drawings pinned up on every inch of wall space. There are coils of wire and rolls of paper tucked into shelves and drawers. The sculptures remind me of kites, or model airplanes. I say this to Clare one evening, standing in the doorway of her studio in my suit and tie, home from work, about to begin making dinner, and she throws one at me; it flies surprisingly well, and soon we are standing at opposite ends of the hall, tossing tiny sculptures at each other, testing their aerodynamics. The next day I come home to find that Clare has created a flock of paper and wire birds, which are hanging from the ceiling in the living room. A week later our bedroom windows are full of abstract blue translucent shapes that the sun throws across the room onto the walls, making a sky for the bird shapes Clare has painted there. It's beautiful.
The next evening I'm standing in the doorway of Clare's studio, watching her finish drawing a thicket of black lines around a little red bird. Suddenly I see Clare, in her small room, closed in by all her stuff, and I realize that she's trying to say something, and I know what I have to do. "
― Audrey Niffenegger , The Time Traveler's Wife
