“ She struggled with her sadness, but tried to conceal it, to divide it into smaller and smaller parts and scatter these in places she thought no one would find them. But often I did—with time I learned where to look—and tried to fit them together. It pained me that she felt she couldn’t come to me with it, but I knew it would hurt her more to know that I’d uncovered what she hadn’t intended for me to find. In some fundamental way I think she objected to being known. Or resented it even as she longed for it.
Great House, Nicole Krauss (via vertere)
I’ve been really, really down this week. So sad that I couldn’t bring myself to read anything, which never happens to me, and is a really deep and particular sort of sadness. I scoured my multiple bookshelves, the stacks next to my bed, and the plethora of books stored on my kindle, before settling on Great House. I’ve been reading only this, sitting at my kitchen table while the sun sets, standing over the stove while I cook eggs, in bed before I fall asleep, and so far I am supremely satisfied.
(Source: octobersfalls)
1 year ago • 12 notes
