You must go further than I did," Nedra said. "You know that." "Further?" "With your life. You must become free." She did not explain it; she could no… - James Salter

She has a narrow mouth, cast down at the corners, weighted there by the sourness of knowledge.

DEAD FLIES ON THE SILLS OF sunny windows, weeds along the pathway, the kitchen empty. The house was melancholy, deceiving; it was like a cathedral where, amid the serenity, something is false, the saints are made of florist's wax, the organ has been gutted.

He had his life — it was not worth much — not like a life that, though ended, had truly been something. If I had had courage, he thought, if I had had faith. We preserve ourselves as if that were important, and always at the expense of others. We hoard ourselves. We succeed if they fail, we are wise if they are foolish, and we go onward, clutching, until there is no one — we are left with no companion save God. In whom we do not believe. Who we know does not exist.