Best 6 quotes of Laura Elizabeth Woollett on MyQuotes

Lenny's head pounds, in time with the truck's jolts, the women's mouths, the metallic hard-on. The shouts of hate, which he knows in his immortal dove soul are really love, love, love.

Men are shit. She has known this since Percy, who took her virginity on the sand dunes at Santa Cruz but never called her back for a third date. Since Jean-Claude, who let her fly from the country she loved and back to the one she hated, without ever thinking to follow. Since Lenny Lynden, who accepted Terra as her replacement as easily as pancakes instead of French toast. For as long as she has been a woman, Evelyn has understood the fundamental indifference of men.

She sees it coming. Like a rushing train. Like tear gas in a crowd. In the eternal seconds before it happens, she's hearing the whistle, seeing the hand reach for the grenade, and she can't stop it happening. Everything in her holds itself sharp and tense in expectation of catastrophe; everything is steel tracks, stinging eyes, bone waiting to be compressed. It's happening and she can't stop it happening; Evelyn by her knowledge tree and that moment of radical innocence before the lightning strikes.

...there will be nights when they can't deal with all the space around them, the time passing, the schizophrenic burr of Father's voice in their brains. Nights in the years to come, when their stories are no longer theirs, and they can barely hear each other over the screaming headlines. Nights after everything's gone to shit and their dreams are decaying bodies in a distant place. Nights when their voices are the only thing to remind each other that the good things, love, beauty, family, still exist; that the night, endless as it seems, cannot undo their progress.

The trouble is, she was born at the wrong time. Too late for the ballroom love of the films she grew up with and too early to swallow all the flower-child stuff. The world has a way of making her feel too young and too old at once, both impossibly naive and impossibly cynical.

They were married in the Summer of Love, when it seemed like everyone was either getting married or getting laid a lot. They were married in the campus chapel, with her father officiating, and then it was back to her parents' house for cake and champagne, and then it was flowers, and then it was honeymooning in Mexico, and then the summer was up and they were students again. He was the same boy he'd always been, smoking dope and sweating over his senior thesis, and she was the same girl, underlining in red, re-typing everything he wrote, sleek-haired and oppressively brilliant.