Extraits

So perhaps it was her grief I felt as I gazed on this child not mine, and not even much of a child anymore. Grief not for him, nor for Martha exactly, but for all my lost selves, which I liked to imagine were still somehow there, waiting for my return. But those selves were long gone. I would never be younger again. This was so simple it went without saying, but unsaid, one could try to forget it

I didn't grasp that desire and duty could rival each other, least of all that they most often did.

A firm push, on smooth waters. After I'd traveled the distance, I saw what he'd done.

Love bestows such a dangerous sense of entitlement.