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“You’re indecisive, for one. You let other people choose for you, over what you want, and that’s not just sad, Rosie, it’s fucking spineless, which is the opposite of what you actually are. And you have this false perception of what’s good and, I don’t know, proper. Like it matters. You don’t live your life the way you should. You never speak out, to anyone, least of all your mother, who frankly could do with being put straight. You don’t sing, anymore. You deny yourself everything. You rob yourself, Roe. Every second of every hour, you’re forcing yourself into some kind of box, and it’s fucking painful to witness, but you do it anyway because you don’t know any different, and nobody’s ever told you not to. Snow is falling now. It drifts down, lands in her hair. She is looking at him as he rants, her hands back beneath her arms. But in spite of all that, Will says, there is not a single thing wrong with you, Roe. With any tiny part of you.”
― Claire Daverley, Talking at Night

“I wish I’d done everything on earth with you, she says. The street is quiet. No cars, or closing doors. Just them, and her voice, on the linen-dry wind. It’s not mine, she says. The quote. But it’s beautiful, isn’t it? He nods, but barely, because he is not used to such talk. And I feel it, Rosie says, still with that smile of hers. I was just thinking that I feel it.”
― Claire Daverley, Talking at Night