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And Clare, always Clare.

Audrey Niffenegger

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Audrey Niffenegger
Age: 61
Born: 1963
Born: June 13
Artist
Author
Novelist
Poet
Science Fiction Writer
University Teacher
Visual Artist
Writer
South Haven
Michigan
Clare
Always

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He thanked her and left the house in the mood of a shipwrecked man who has allowed the rescue ship to pass him by.
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Running is many things to me: survival, calmness, euphoria, solitude. It is proof of my corporeal existence, my ability to control my movement through space if not time, and the obedience, however temporary, of my body to my will. As I run I displace air, and things come and go around me, and the path moves like a filmstrip beneath my feet.
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Every minute of his life since then has been marked by her absence, every action has lacked dimension because she is not there to measure against. And when I was young I didn't understand, but now, I know, how absence can be present, like a damaged nerve, like a dark bird.
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The cure might be worse than the problem
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I look at him, look at the book, remember, this book, this moment, the first book I ever loved
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It's hard being left behind. (...) It's hard to be the one who stays.
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I wish for a moment that time would lift me out of this day, and into some more benign one. But then I feel guilty for wanting to avoid the sadness dead people need us to remember them, even if it eats us, even if all we can do is say I'm sorry until it is as meaningless air.
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There was only the cemetery itself, spread out in the moonlight like a soft grey hallucination, a stony wilderness of Victorian melancholy.
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Home sweet home. No place like home. Take me home, country roads. Home is where the heart is. But my heart is here. So I must be home. Clare sighs, turns her head, and is quiet. Hi, honey. I'm home. I'm home.
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I'm living under water. Everything seems slow and far away. I know there's a world up there, a sunlit quick world where time runs like dry sand through an hourglass, but down here, where I am, air and sound and time and feeling are thick and dense.
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I love. I have loved. I will love.
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Maybe I'm dreaming you. Maybe you're dreaming me maybe we only exist in each other's dreams and every morning when we wake up we forget all about each other.
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The engagement ring is an emerald, and the dim light from the window is refracted green and white in it. The rings are silver, and they need cleaning. They need wearing, and I know just the girl to wear them.
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There's always world enough and time.
Audrey Niffenegger
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That's what alcoholics do. It's in their job description: fall apart and then keep falling apart.
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Time passes and the pain begins to roll in and out as though it’s a woman standing at an ironing board, passing the iron back and forth, back and forth across a white tablecloth.
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He said something interesting: he said that he thinks there is only free will when you are in time, in the present. He says in the past we can only do what we did, and we can only be there if we were there.
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...and I suddenly feel that Henry is there, incredible need for Henry to be there and to put his hand on me even while it seems to me that Henry is the rain and I am alone and wanting him - Clare
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When the woman you live with is an artist, every day is a surprise.
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Chaos is more freedom in fact, total freedom. But no meaning. I want to be free to act, and I also want my actions to mean something.
Audrey Niffenegger