Cleopatra and Frankenstein

Fun was fine when you were young, but as you got older it was kindness that counted, kindness that showed up.

Frank had never particularly prized kindness in people. His mother hadn’t taught him to, he supposed. He’d always been drawn to characters, people with talent or ambition or a taste for fun. The kind of people who, like Frank, tended to put themselves first. Even with Cleo, it was her intelligence and sexual charge he’d been drawn to; he’d never once considered whether she was a good person.

He was struck, once again, by how young she was.

The truth was, he had no more idea why he drank than why his heart pumped blood or his lungs absorbed oxygen. It just happened. There was no language to explain that,

There were only so many wayward young female artists a man could support at once.

He and Cleo belonged together, were more like family to each other than either of their real families ever had been. They were practically sisters.

When the darkest part of you meets the darkest part of me, it creates light.

“There are worse reasons to marry someone,” said Cleo.
“There are better ones,” said Quentin

To delight in another, to be delighted in turn by them, that was what she had always wanted.

“Ah yes, Americans are all addicted to pills,” said Frank. “I’ve heard this one before.”