Ainslie Hogarth

I guess that’s what rage is: the point where your words fail the power of your emotions.

Maybe touching someone is the kindest thing you can do; making a person feel like it’s okay to touch them, that they’re touchable and not disgusting, is the easiest and best way to make a person feel good in the world.

He told me that suffering makes a person special, fills a soul with angular gems of transcendent knowledge, so many perspectives contained within each one.

The private alarm of losing track of a spider on your ceiling, that was what it felt like to be in a room with you.

We’re supposed to want to die. A little bit.

I wonder if, when that happens, when you get that feeling that you want to look nice, it’s because you’re feeling especially good about yourself, or if it’s because you’re feeling especially bad about yourself.

How eyes that love you look so different from eyes that don’t.

What if Mrs. Bondy had been my mother instead? What might I have inherited from her? Good things. Maybe I would have wanted to be like her. Instead of how it is with my mother, where everything I do is to try to not be like her, which is basically the same as becoming her in a way, how a shadow of your hand is both your hand and its opposite.

Soda because if either of us has more coffee, our colons are going to disintegrate.

Maybe touching someone is the kindest thing you can do; making a person feel like it’s okay to touch them, that they’re touchable and not disgusting, is the easiest and best way to make a person feel good in the world.