Scribbling Cynic

Rambling thoughts, sudden inspirations, general wittiness

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Then he looks at me like adults do when they’re acting like they know way more about something than you, but smiling, like there’s a secret you’ll know one day and it’ll be great and aren’t we proud of you and the potential you have, although we’re not going to tell you about it because we don’t think you’d understand.
Golden Boy by Abigail Tarttelin

Filed under adults growing up Golden Boy Abigail Tarttelin

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…in that moment Sherman made the terrible discovery that men make about their fathers sooner or later. For the first time he realized that the man before him was not an aging father but a boy, a boy much like himself, a boy who grew up and had a child of his own and, as best he could, out of a sense of duty and, perhaps, love, adopted a role called Being a Father so that his child would have something mythical and infinitely important: a Protector, who would keep a lid on all the chaotic and catastrophic possibilities of life. And now that boy, that good actor, had grown old and fragile and tired, wearier than ever at the thought of trying to hoist the Protector’s armor back onto his shoulders again, now, so far down the line.
The Bonfire of the Vanities  by Tom Wolfe

Filed under The Bonfire of the Vanities Tom Wolfe sons fathers

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32 Things You Can Tell About Your Date Based on Their Favorite Book

Quite a few of the books on here top my personal list, but Brave New World is the one I always answer when asked (along with Catch-22, in case Facts About Jaime just fascinate you).

So, apparently I come off as a loose racist. On second thought, I change my answer to The Virgin Suicides.

Filed under the date report dates brave new world the virgin suicides

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I have lived twenty-five years in this body by myself, and I feel pretty confident that, by now, my personality is staying as it is. I’m going to stay a little uptight and anxious. I’m going to continue enjoying plans and Post-its and clean, orderly spaces. And though nobody has been dumb enough to say anything close to “You need to get laid” to my face, I resent the idea that anyone might think, if they knew my history, that I’d be slightly different by virtue of having a penis—however briefly—inside me. That is some phallocentric bullshit if I ever heard any. Hypothetical penises don’t make the rules. I make the rules.
Never Have I Ever by Katie Heaney

Filed under Never Have I Ever Katie Heaney virginity

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Maybe that’s what religion is, hurling yourself off a cliff and trusting that something bigger will take care of you and carry you to the right place. I don’t know if it’s possible to feel everything all at once, so much that you think you’re going to burst….I felt so full of love for everything. But at the same time, I felt so hung out to dry there, like nobody could ever understand. I felt so alone in this world, and so loved at the same time.
Where’d You Go, Bernadette? by Maria Semple

Filed under Where'd you go bernadette maria semple religion love

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"You’re so … cool."
“Cool?” he said.
God. She couldn’t believe she’d said that. Talk about uncool. Like the opposite of cool. Like, if you looked up cool in the dictionary, there’d be a photo of some cool person there saying, What the eff is wrong with you, Eleanor?
Eleanor & Park by Rainbow Rowell

Filed under eleanor & park rainbow rowell cool