I should like to bury something precious in every place where I’ve been happy and then, when I was old and ugly and miserable, I could come back and dig it up and remember.
Conversation should be like juggling; up go the balls and the plates, up and over, in and out, good solid objects that glitter in the footlights and fall with a bang if you miss them.
…as I took the cigarette from my lips and put it in hers, I caught a thin bat’s squeak of sexuality, inaudible to any but me.
She seemed to say: ‘Look at me. I have done my share. I am beautiful. It is something quite out of the ordinary, this beauty of mine. I am made for delight. But what do I get out of it? Where is my reward?’
Again. I beg everything again.
She thinks, That is how a man speaks. And that is why.
The power seeks its outlet. These things have happened before, they will happen again. These things are always happening.
My choice of quotes from The Power, this year’s winner of the Baileys Women’s Prize for Fiction.
Maybe nubile teeny girl fans with Goth eye makeup, and stick marks tattooed on their necks like the Frankenstein creature, and dotted lines around their wrists with CUT HERE instructions, will visit his grave and leave him tributes composed of withered roses and whitened chicken bones. They send stuff like that to him already, and he’s not even dead.
My most favourite passage in the collection.