Цитаты из книги These Violent Delights

All they were—all they had ever been—was a pair of sunflowers who each believed the other was the sun.

It was a relief and a horror to be known so perfectly.

Pollution-orange sunlight seeped through the windows and set fire to everything between them, clothes and skin and particles of dust.

Whenever he forgot to look away, Paul’s eyes landed on the mirror—its ruthless portrait of two suicides tethered together at the throat.

Paul couldn’t answer the question. There were too many answers. I want to go far away, start over, pretend we can wake up from this. To stop hurting you, and to hurt you so badly the scars will never fade. Never to see you again. Never to see anything but you.

All he could think about was throwing himself against a wall, over and over, until he’d smashed himself into shards so fine that the void inside him could finally slip free.

Julian could witness suffering and endure it, so long as it was under enough control that he could tease apart how it worked. Once he knew the shape of someone else’s pain, he could break off a piece of it—claim it as his own, keep it as a memento under glass—and know they would be grateful to him for taking it away.

He had needed to remember that they were monstrous together, merciless, twins conjoined at the teeth.

I kill them because they’re beautiful, and it’s the only way I can keep them.

Paul was almost relieved to feel the sting. It meant Julian saw every weakness in him and still thought he was worth the effort of hurting.

We’ll both be happier if I can find you as fascinating as you ought to be.

This often happened between them now, the silent transmission of recognition and acceptance. Paul thought that Julian must see some immense potential in him, an early glimmer of all he hoped to become. It was the only way he could make sense of Julian’s willingness to forgive him.

Beautiful things are supposed to hurt.