Catherine Lacey Quotes

Catherine Lacey Quote of the day

Lately, I couldn't remember those years, as if childhood was a movie I'd only seen the previews to.

She missed his nothing. It had felt like something.

Maybe misery begins everywhere.

It depressed me to think that I might have been looking at another person but seeing only myself.

Speaking felt impossible, as contained and enclosed as she was, a longing that went on a loop, a longing for nothing at all.

I needed nothing and was needed nowhere. I almost doubted I was alive.

I thought I detected a bit of wonder in his voice, that he'd like to become part of a story, any story.

I wondered for a moment if he was trying to get me to join a cult, but I realized it was just his youth talking, not a dogma.

I was thinking about stabbing myself in the face—not actually considering stabbing myself in the face, but thinking that it would be a physical expression of how I felt.

I couldn't blame anyone for what was in me, because I am, like everyone, populated entirely by myself.

He would never be that way again. He would never have the power of that specific kind of not-knowing.

That boy never seemed to smile and he wore long sleeves year-round, and I was not so different from him—we were both unable to get near the real life in life.

I closed my eyes, tried to get as far away from myself as I could.

Maybe I will always have to love the idea of love or a concept of God more than I can love a person.

It was grotesque and eerie, too strange of a dream.

But we always avoided talking about these things—difficult things—and I wondered if that meant we'd be a little uncomfortable with or disappointed by each other for the rest of our lives.

She was sure no one had ever been more in love than they were in those weeks, consumed by such longing, wanting to just be alive beside each other.

It was possible she might not have the right feeling after all, that she wasn't in love, wasn't in limerence, but was in some unnamed place alone.

But what had really happened? It was still unclear. Was it possible nothing of any significance had ever happened between us and our ending was just the sad process of realizing this?

I couldn't decide how to feel about what he was saying, whether it was all nonsense or just more evidence that I would never understand this world.

He excused himself for a nap, and this day blended into his dreams like like years blended into a life, unseen but still felt, the line between memory and present always bleeding.

Past love is as good as a past dream, intangible, impossible to share.

I wasn't sure if it was safe for me to be sharing time and space with other people, who all seemed so much gentler and safer and less of a secret to themselves than I felt I was.

Why were we never together anymore, just alone in each other's vicinity?

I sometimes wondered why I even answered the phone, but I guess I always had the hope that it would be someone else, some other way of life calling for me.