page 170: Hand in the Fire
page 1: Nobody does friendship like you do in this country. It comes out of nowhere. Full on. All or nothing. I've been to places where friendship is cultivated with great care over a longer period of time, like a balcony garden. Here it seems to grow wild.
page 34: The first part of his body to land was the hip and I could hear it crack on the concrete, like a rare piece of porcelain shattering inside a velvet bag.
page 54: The whole earth sagging under the weight of unhappiness, with more clouds, like heavy curtains being closed.
page 125: Then he dropped the box out of his hands and as I looked down, his arm came swinging towards me so fast that I had no time to escape the blow. It was the first time I really noticed that he was left-handed.
page 242: Some signs I should have interpreted as unwelcome, but I deliberately eliminated them from my thoughts, because you had to let things happen before you started worrying about them, isn't that so?
HAND IN THE FIRE – Hugo Hamilton © 2010
page 12: I'll never understand these people. Do they strip to their underwear just for the purpose of answering the doorbell?
page 37: Meaningful, and yet I could not understand what it meant.
page 44: They accumulate all this stuff, treasures and mementos and so-called useful items, and the next generation comes along and sees that it's just a pile of rubbish.
page 111: It's interesting that you have taken up writing. Who hasn't these days?
THE CRY OF THE SLOTH – Sam Savage © 2009
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