Sentence(s) of the Day

The fact that I have recently read two really quite dreadful detective stories by Donna Leon* has made me hungry for a decent read. I found it at adelaide writer, where thirdcat says:

It wasn’t a lie. It wasn’t one of those things she just made up so that she could talk to someone she liked, but didn’t know. What Adelaide said was true.

Isn't that just beautiful? Such grace and economy in expressing that observation, and such nuance in the observation itself. Not just how we (mothers of young children, prowling public spaces) sometimes search for another grown-up to talk to, but also that instant attraction to someone - I'd like to know more about you. There's a new woman in my mother's group that I'm drawn to that way.


* Worse than dreadful. Duck loaned them to me to read through the post-op drug fog, but sheesh. Lazy books. You couldn't make a movie out of them, because they don't even have a sub-plot. In a detective story! The only bloody red herring's for lunch, after risotto and before the stewed pears. But thanks, Duck. It's the thought that counts and all that. Still read all of both of them.