#*books24

But it was from the difference between us, not from the affinities and likenesses, but from the difference, that that love came: and it was itself the bridge, the only bridge, across what divided us.

A profound love between two people involves, after all, the power and chance of doing profound hurt. It would never have occurred to me before that night that I could hurt Estraven.

“I would visit,” Ead said. “Not . . . often, you understand. The Prioress belongs in the South. But I would find a way.” She took a cup. “I know I have said this to you once before, Sabran, but I would not blame you if you would prefer not to live that way.” “I would live alone for fifty years to have one day with you.”

“Communism forgives you,” he says. “Communism understands.”

Failure. Failure shapes the world. History is the story of failure; progress is the succession of failures. Development! says the futurist. Loss, states the rebel. Hangover! cries the moralist from the back row. Failure: the rebel gets angry.

We are equals at last, equal, alien, alone.

[...] You’re a foreign object. It’s just nobody bothered to tell you because they find you too freaky. They’ve been saying it behind your back, though. And now they’ll start saying it to your face too.”

“You wanted to be alone. You wanted to be hurt. You think you have to be miserable alone, so everyone will know you’re too noble to put your misery on them. But you want us to know you’re miserable. Your favorite thing in the world is to be too hurt for anyone to help.”