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"I love New York, even though it isn't mine, the way something has to be, a tree or a street or a house, something, anyway, that belongs to me because I belong to it."
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"They'd welcomed him aboard their ship. Nico had never allowed himself the luxury of friends, but the crew of the Argo II was as close as he'd ever come. The idea of any of them dying made him feel empty " like he was back in the giants' bronze jar, alone in the dark, subsisting only on sour pomegranate seeds."
"What...what about when I'm married?'We'll buy a cot. Your husband can sleep on that when he visits."
"Mine': what does this word mean? Not what belongs to me, but what I belong to, what contains my whole being, which is mine only so far as I belong to it. My God is not the God that belongs to me, but the God to whom I belong; and so, too, when I say my native land, my home, my calling, my longing, my hope. If there had been no immortality before, this thought that I am yours would be a breach of the normal course of nature."
"But none of that really mattered. I had found my tribe. It felt like a family reunion for the family I'd never really known, a homecoming at the place where I was always meant to be but hadn't known how to find."
"That's what being a demigod was all about, not quite belonging in the mortal world or on Mount Olympus but trying to make peace with both sides of their nature."
"Sure, Nico had mixed emotions about the camp. He'd felt rejected there, out of place, unwanted and unloved - but now that it was on the verge of destruction, he realized how much it meant to him. This was the last place Bianca and he had shared as a home " the only place they'd ever felt safe, even if only temporarily."
Explore more quotes by Truman Capote
"Any love is natural and beautiful that lies within a person's nature; only hypocrites would hold a man responsible for what he loves, emotional illiterates and those of righteous envy, who, in their agitated concern, mistake so frequently the arrow pointing to heaven for the one that leads to hell."
"Royal summoned mourners. They came from the village, from the neighboring hills and, wailing like dogs at midnight, laid siege to the house. Old women beat their heads against the walls, moaning men prostrated themselves: it was the art of sorrow, and those who best mimicked grief were much admired. After the funeral everyone went away, satisfied that they'd done a good job."
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