The Middle Brother Quotes in Human Acts
“Let’s go home,” she says. You give your wrist a violent wrench, trying to shake free of her grip. The insistent, desperate strength in that grip is frightening, somehow, making you think of someone drowning. You have to use your other hand to pry her fingers away, one by one. “The army is coming. Let’s go home, now.”
[…] You turn around and call back to her: “We’re going to close up here at six, Mum.” […] You call again, louder this time: “Once we've closed up, I'll come home. I promise.”
[…] “Make sure you do,” she says. “Be back before the sun sets. We’ll all have dinner together.”
“I don’t like summer but I like summer nights”: that was something you came out with the year you turned eight. I liked the sound of those words, and I remember thinking to myself, he’ll be a poet. Times when you three boys sat out on the bench in the yard, sharing watermelon with your father on hot summer nights. When your tongue groped for the sticky sweet remnants smeared around your mouth.
Permission? Yes, you have my permission, but only if you do it properly. Please, write your book so that no one will ever be able to desecrate my brother’s memory again […]
Whenever we had a toe war, I always won.
He was really ticklish, you see.
All I had to do was poke his foot with my big toe and he’d start squirming.
At first I couldn’t tell whether he was grimacing like that because he was ticklish, or because it really hurt…
But then he would turn bright red and laugh.
The Middle Brother Quotes in Human Acts
“Let’s go home,” she says. You give your wrist a violent wrench, trying to shake free of her grip. The insistent, desperate strength in that grip is frightening, somehow, making you think of someone drowning. You have to use your other hand to pry her fingers away, one by one. “The army is coming. Let’s go home, now.”
[…] You turn around and call back to her: “We’re going to close up here at six, Mum.” […] You call again, louder this time: “Once we've closed up, I'll come home. I promise.”
[…] “Make sure you do,” she says. “Be back before the sun sets. We’ll all have dinner together.”
“I don’t like summer but I like summer nights”: that was something you came out with the year you turned eight. I liked the sound of those words, and I remember thinking to myself, he’ll be a poet. Times when you three boys sat out on the bench in the yard, sharing watermelon with your father on hot summer nights. When your tongue groped for the sticky sweet remnants smeared around your mouth.
Permission? Yes, you have my permission, but only if you do it properly. Please, write your book so that no one will ever be able to desecrate my brother’s memory again […]
Whenever we had a toe war, I always won.
He was really ticklish, you see.
All I had to do was poke his foot with my big toe and he’d start squirming.
At first I couldn’t tell whether he was grimacing like that because he was ticklish, or because it really hurt…
But then he would turn bright red and laugh.