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In the end I didn't know who I was crying for, but it was something my body wanted to do, as though trying to digest grief.

Simon Van Booy

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Simon Van Booy
Age: 50
Born: 1975
Born: January 1
Author
Novelist
Writer
Trying
Crying
Something
Grief
Cry
Though
Didn
Ends
Body
Wanted
Digest

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I wonder if things can happen too early or too late or if everything happens at exactly the right time. If so, how sad and beautiful.
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But those who seek only reassurance from life will never be more than tourists—seeing everything and trying to possess what can only be felt. Beauty is the shadow of imperfection.
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I didn’t know who she was, but I had this fire inside me for someone I knew existed.
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I want to do things for people they will never forget. Maybe that’s the best thing I can do in life.
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Loneliness is like being the only person left alive in the universe, except that everyone else is still here.
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Everything that we love will, at some point, be taken away from us. If I think about everyone I love eventually being taken away from me by death, or simply by getting lost from each other in the world, it makes me value them much more now. And I'm much less likely to be indifferent. For me, indifference is the end of life.
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Reading reassures us that no matter how alone we might feel, there are many others - spread as wide as history itself - who have felt the same way we have, who have occupied the rooms we find ourselves locked in at various points of our lives.
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Love between strangers takes only a few seconds and can last a whole life.
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The beauty of artifacts is in how they reassure us we’re not the first to die.
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It's tempting to imagine how we could hurt someone close, because it reminds us how fiercely we love them.
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Whether you know it or not, we leave parts of ourselves wherever we go.
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It’s the greatest legacy you could ever leave your children or your loved ones: the history of how you felt.
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Royal Young's writing is that rare blend of irony and beauty.
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When somebody leaves this plane—or, if you like, goes into another room—those left behind sometimes try and stop loving—but this is a mistake, because even if you have loved only once in your life, you’re ruined.
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Music helps us understand where we have come from but, more importantly, what has happened to us.
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I think you can love someone and be infatuated with them, too. But infatuation is immediate, while the sort of love in the West is something you build with someone. It's a trust.
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But say you do find the right people - how do you love them without smothering them?...How do you not suffocate them with all the love you've built up in their absence?
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Hands have their own language.
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We touched with a softness that pushed through the skin into memory, like arms plunged into a river - we could feel the weight of each other's stones.
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I think people would be happier if they admitted things more often. In a sense we are all prisoners of some memory, or fear, or disappointment - we are all defined by something we can’t change.
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