The Leftovers

the basement storage area for things you couldn’t bear to think about—the same place you hid the knowledge that you were going to die, so you could live your life without being depressed every minute of every day.

I’ve matured. I have a much higher tolerance for boredom.

I’m just making conversation. You don’t have to get all huffy about it.”

That was the real point of this exercise—to do something, to stop procrastinating and take a small concrete step in the right direction.

You missed out, he thought. I was the one who loved you.

And right now he was feeling the weight of all those losses, and the weight of the years that were behind him, and the weight of the ones that were still ahead, however many there might be—three or four, twenty or thirty, maybe more.

They were innocents, just like she and Meg had been when they’d arrived at Outpost 17, blissfully unaware of the beautiful tradition they’d been chosen to uphold.

because of who she was and everything she was no longer capable o

In his heart of hearts, Jack London knew that we can never build a fire. Not when we really need to.”

I’m a really good girlfriend,” she told him. “You know that, don’t you?”