It shouldn’t be allowed for real memories to get mixed up in the flimsy structure of dreams because the pain it causes is unbearable. ~ Agnès Desarthe, from Chez Moi

Edwin Dickinson O'Neil's Wharf, 1913 oil on composition board
“O’Neil’s Wharf” (1913, oil on composition board)
by Edwin Dickinson



How come we live several different lives? Maybe I’m generalizing a bit. Maybe I’m the only one who feels like this. I will only die once and yet, during the time I’m allotted, I will have lived a series of related but clearly distinct existences.

At thirty, I wasn’t the same person I am now. At eight, I was a very individual little thing. I see my adolescence as quite autonomous in relation to what followed. The woman I am now is rootless, unattached, incomprehensibly alone. I used to have lots of people round me. I had become very sociable. Initially I was shy, then reserved, then sensible . . . finally mad.

 ~ Agnès Desarthe, from Chez Moi