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After the dress rehearsal that afternoon, someone had misplaced the vial of poison, and for lack of better, Romeo would have to commit suicide by eating Tic Tacs.

Anne Fortier

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Anne Fortier
Age: 53
Born: 1971
Born: November 10
Novelist
Writer
DK
Eating
Rehearsal
Someone
Afternoon
Better
Poison
Would
Dress
Suicide
Vial
Dresses
Tics
Commit
Romeo
Lack
Misplaced

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We are all cups, and our destiny is poured according to measures we cannot understand, cannot influence.
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I did not know my soul until I saw it's reflection in your eyes.
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But he is an Italian, was Umberto's sensible reply. He doesn't care if you break some law a little bit, as long as you wear beautiful shoes. Are you wearing beautiful shoes? Are you wearing the shoes I gave you?...principessa? I looked down at my flip-flops. I guess I'm toast.
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Peppo! I yelled, pulling at my cousin's suspenders. I really don't want to be arrested, okay? Don't worry! Peppo turned a corner and accelerated as he spoke. I go too fast for police!
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I wish I had the power to flip my reality upside down like an hourglass, and that life wasn't a finite affair, but rather a perpetually recurring passage through a hole in time.
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And whether or not we had now paid our dues, he was my blessing, and I was his.
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Janice used to say that instinct was reason in a hurry I was not so sure about the reason part.
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If you let go of me now,” I whispered, stretching against him, “it could be another six hundred years before you find me again. Are you willing to take that risk?
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She had died peacefully, in her sleep, after an evening of listening to all of her favorite Fred Astaire songs, one crackling record after another. Once the last chord of the last piece had died out, she had stood up and opened the French doors to the garden outside, perhaps waiting to breathe in the honeysuckle one more time.
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...it is fifty percent what they see, and fifty percent what they think they see.
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You owe me nothing, but I want everything.
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Perhaps. But the firstborn of hope is tragedy.
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Think about it. He drinks poison. What kind of man drinks poison? She is the one who stabs herself with his dagger. The manly way.
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A novel is, hopefully, the starting point of a conversation, one in which the author engages readers and asks that they see things from a different point of view than they might otherwise.
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Great love, you believe, carries the seeds of great sorrow.
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I’ll be back tomorrow,” he said, “at nine o’clock. Don’t open your door to anyone else.” “Not even my balcony door?” “Especially not your balcony door.
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By the time we left college, I had become my own image: a dandelion in the flower bed of society. Kinda cute, but still a weed.
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You were right and I was wrong. When life hurts more than death, it is not worth living.
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Great love, you believe, carries the seeds of great sorrow. Well, perhaps you are right. Perhaps the wise spurn one to remain safe from the other, but I should rather choose to have my eyes burnt in their sockets than to have been born without.
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For as long as I could remember, he had never worn a single piece of clothing that could be considered casual. Khaki shorts and golf shirts, to Umberto, were the garments of men who have no virtues left, not even shame.
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