Why did she think tall people couldn’t be crazy? Because they looked like they ruled the world? Because she admired them and coveted their legs?
Try not to saddle yourself with too distinct a personality too early in life. It might not suit you later on.
Tragedy made you petty and spiteful. It didn’t give you any great knowledge or insight. She didn’t understand a damned thing about life except that it was arbitrary and cruel, and some people got away with murder, while others made one tiny careless mistake and paid a terrible price.
They say it’s good to let your grudges go, but I don’t know, I’m quite fond of my grudge. I tend it like a little pet.
There was something pathetic about the rejected wife bravely pulling herself together, joining a tennis club, doing a photography course, cutting her hair, venturing timidly back out onto the single scene.
There is no special protection when you cross that invisible line from your ordinary life to that parallel world where tragedies happen. It happens just like this. You don’t become someone else. You’re still exactly the same. Everything around you still smells and looks and feels exactly the same.