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A batch of the best highlights from what Carla's read, .
“I confess I do not believe in time,” writes Nabokov at the end of the ecstatic butterfly chapter in Speak, Memory. “I like to fold my magic carpet, after use, in such a way as to superimpose one part of the pattern upon another.”
The Annotated Lolita
Vladimir Nabokov
In the headlights, the paint of the house lit up ghostly white, the places where the paint was dingy and ragged giving it an ominous shape, as if the house were just a skin worn by a creature who lurked underneath. Its back disappeared into the dark woods.
The Fact of a Body
Alexandria Marzano-Lesnevich
It occurred to me almost constantly in the South that had I lived there I would have been an eccentric and full of anger, and I wondered what form the anger would have taken. Would I have taken up causes, or would I have simply knifed somebody?
South and West
Joan Didion
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