Когда вы читаете замечательную книгу, слушаете прекрасную музыку, разглядываете талантливую живопись, вы вдруг отрываетесь на мгновение и беззвучно произносите такие слова:«Боже, как глупо, пошло и лживо я живу! Как я беспечен, жесток и некрасив! Сегодня же, сейчас же начну жить иначе – достойно, благородно и умно…»Вот это чувство, религиозное в своей основе, и есть момент нравственного торжества литературы, оно, это чувство – и есть плод ее морального воздействия на сознание читателя, причем, воздействия, оказываемого чисто эстетическими средствами…
Bella's eyes sparked with anger. "If you'd really wanted to win, that story wouldn't have stopped you. Nothing would have stopped you."
...all I saw was misery. You can always be better, she'd said to me when we first met. But what was the point if you had everything and enjoyed nothing?
Sheils's whole life had been spent grasping for more - more medals, more money, more power - and it would never be enough.
She couldn't remember the name of the man who'd fathered her children, but she knew exactly how many Olympic golds he'd won.
...to Sheila, competing was pointless if you couldn't win.
"If only he wanted to win as much as he wanted you."
The gold medal was theirs to lose.
"When expectations are that high? Anything but the best feels like failure."
The thing is, when pushing your limits is all you know, when it seems normal to you… it's hard to remember you even have limits. Until you run right into them.