Mary Kubica Quotes

She says that she used to enjoy, when darkness set in, when the outside world changed. She describes it for me: the way the streetlights and buildings twinkled in the night sky. She says that she liked the anonymity of it, and all the possibilities that developed when the sun went to sleep. But now the darkness terrifies her, all the nameless things on the other side of the silk drapes.

She says that in Chicago she used to wish on airplanes because there were far more of those floating around in the night sky than stars. There

But there was something telling about that photograph, I thought; our protective glass frame shattered and now here we were, punctured with microscopic holes that might one day tear. Those holes all had names: mortgage, adolescent child, lack of communication, retirement savings, cancer.

I watch the way her skin becomes red from the cold. The way her hair blows around in the breeze. She tucks it behind an ear, hoping to contain it, but it doesn't work. Not all things like to be contained.

I know how betrayal and disillusionment feel, when someone who could give you the world refuses even a tiny piece of it.

I don't tell her the way she makes me feel when she looks at me, or how I hear her voice at night, in my dreams, forgiving me. I don't tell her I'm sorry, though I am. I don't tell her that I think she's beautiful, even when I see her look in a mirror and hate the image she sees.

The Chicago winter is harsh. But every now and then God blesses us with a thirty-or forty-degree day to remind us that misery comes and goes.

She is beautiful. Magnetic, really, the kind of individual who draws people with her idiosyncratic hair and heterochromatic eyes.

The goal with teenagers is simply getting through it alive, with no permanent damage.

I love the quietness of the library, the gateway to knowledge, to the French language and medieval history and hydraulic engineering and fairy tales, learning in a very primitive form: books, something that's quickly giving way to modern technology.

I know how women are. A little camaraderie can fix anything.

According to research, people who live with animals have decreased anxiety and lower blood pressure. They have lower cholesterol. They are more relaxed and less stressed and are, overall, in better health. Unless of course you have a dog who pees uncontrollably wherever it wishes or eats your furniture to shreds.

She's disoriented, her visions cluttered, random memories running adrift in her mind.

There's so much hope in his eyes, hope and desperation, a toxic combination, it seems --- so much to gain, so much to lose.

That I love her. That I'm sorry.

She said something to you and you smiled and I thought to myself that I'd never seen anything so... I don't know... I'd never seen anything so beautiful in my life.

The kind of roommate who greets me at the door, who makes me dinner, who would bring me coffee and bagels every single day of the week if I asked her to.

As it was, being a bad mother was child's play compared to being a good mother, which was an incessant struggle, a lose-lose situation 24 hours a day; long after the kids were in bed the torment of what I did or didn't do during those hours we were trapped together would scourge my soul.

How much maltreatment and exploitation could someone handle before losing self-control?

The weathermen warn us for days of the impending snowstorm that's to arrive Thursday night. The grocery stores have run out of bottle water as people prepare to take shelter in their homes; my God, I think, it's winter, an annual certainty, not the atomic bomb.

I'm trapped inside a funhouse whereby everything is skewed, and my center of gravity is thrown off by centrifugal force.

I've been following her for the last few days. I know where she buys her groceries where she has her dry cleaning done, where she works. I've never spoken to her. I wouldn't recognize the sound of her voice. I don't know the color of her eyes or what they look like when she's scared. But I will.

We fall into oblivion this way, into a world where nothing matters. Nothing but us.

I've always hoped that wherever you were and whatever you were doing, you were happy.

What is perfect is the way she looks at me, and the way she says my name. The way her hand strokes my hair, though I don't think she knows she's doing it. The way we lay together night after night. The way I feel: complete. What is perfect is the way she sometimes smiles and she sometimes laughs. The way we can say anything that comes to mind, or sit together for hours in absolute silence.

my very own knight in shining armor (he just doesn't know it yet)

But he holds me so tightly that for a moment, the emotions are at bay. The sadness and fear, the regret and the loathing. He bottles them up inside his arms so that for a split second I don't have to be the one carrying the weight of them. For this moment, the burden is his.

His arms wrap around me from behind, and my heart rhythm slows to a steady jog. His chin rests on the top of my head, and my breath comes back to me, oxygen filling my lungs.