Sam came around the side of the car and stopped dead when he saw me. “Oh my God, what is THAT?†I used my thumb and middle finger to flick the multicolored pom-pom on top of my head. “In my language, we call it a HAT. It keeps my ears warm.†“Oh my God,†Sam said again, and closed the distance between us. He cupped my face in his hands and studied me. “It’s horribly cute.†He kissed me, looked at the hat, and then he kissed me again. I vowed never to lose the pom-pom hat.
I can never read all the books I want; I can never be all the people I want and live all the lives I want. I can never train myself in all the skills I want. And why do I want? I want to live and feel all the shades, tones and variations of mental and physical experience possible in my life. And I am horribly limited.
The anticipation and dread he felt at seeing her was also a kind of sensual pleasure, and surrounding it, like an embrace, was a general elation--it might hurt, it was horribly inconvenient, no good might come of it, but he had found out for himself what it was to be in love, and it thrilled him.
One of the few good things about modern times: If you die horribly on television, you will not have died in vain. You will have entertained us.
If she spoke, she would tell him the truth: she was not okay at all, but horribly empty, now that she knew what it was like to be filled.