Less Is Lost (The Arthur Less Books Book 2)

life for some goes smoothly, as free from incident as it is perhaps from poetry; a fainter kind of happiness than Less has ever perceived. We are all having different experiences.

Everything changes and this one fucking time, you’re in charge of it, my God, so choose! Make the wrong choice, that’s fine! That’s fine! But choose.’”

What do we want from the past, anyway? For it to trifle with us no longer? For it to cease its surprises, its stirrings, its stings, for it to be fixed forever—for it to die? But the past is like those jellyfish that, when harmed, coil into themselves and revert to immature blobs from which they begin new lives and become, in simple terms, immortal

“You got time to change what you want out of life.”

What could be more normal than to be out of place everywhere you go? What could be more American?

Strangle him? Salute him? Put him in a novel? You are seeing suffering, Robert used to say when confronted with a horrible person. You are seeing someone in pain.

Less realizes he has made the sound himself. For the dead live only in us.

I want to talk about love. I have been with my wife, Federico’s great-aunt, for a long time. I want to tell you it isn’t something you celebrate every ten years. Or every five years. It’s every day. You understand me? I believe in a Supreme Being. I don’t know who God is, I don’t know anything about God, but I know Maria is here because of God. The

The old man looks out at the smears of rain vibrating on the window glass. His smile fades. “But Arthur, there is hope.” The great author quietly says: