Namaste friends. This post is a collection of quotes from the book - In Five Years by Rebecca Serle. In Five Years is a striking, powerful, and moving love story following an ambitious lawyer who experiences an astonishing vision that could change her life forever.
This is what I want. This is what I’ve always wanted. To be somewhere that stops at nothing. To be surrounded by the pace and rhythm of greatness.
I wouldn’t say I’m a romantic, exactly. But I believe in romance, which is to say, I believe in calling to inquire about a date instead of texting, and flowers after sex, and Frank Sinatra at an engagement. And New York City in December.
That is the thing about relationships: it’s not necessary to say everything.
This is us. Spend seven hundred dollars on dinner, come home to eat eight-dollar fried rice. I never want that to change.
They say that languages come better to people who are right-brained, but I’m not so sure. I think you need a certain looseness, a certain fluidity, to speak another language. To take all the words in your brain and turn them over, one by one, like stones - and find something else scrolled on the underside.
No one who has lost a sibling at twelve can say with a straight face: everything happens for a reason.
There are a few ways to get ahead at a corporate law firm, and being the managing partner’s favorite is definitely one of them.
I love the order of deal making, the clarity of language - how there is little room for interpretation and none for error. I love the black-and-white terms. [...] Apocalyptic scenarios, disagreements, and details that threaten to topple it all. It seems impossible we’ll ever get both parties on the same page, but somehow we do. Somehow, contracts get agreed upon and signed. Somehow, deals get done. And when it finally happens, it’s exhilarating. Better than any day in court. It’s written. Binding. Anyone can bend a judge’s or jury’s will with bravado, but to do it on paper - in black and white - that takes a particular kind of artistry. It’s truth in poetry.
I need the morning. There’s something about being the first one awake that feels precious, rare. I feel accomplished before I’ve even had my first cup of coffee. The whole day is better.
New York kind of makes you feel like it’s the only place in existence.
Here is the thing no one tells you about cancer: they ease you into it. After the initial shock, after the diagnosis and the terror, they put you on the slow conveyor belt. They start you off nice and easy. You want some lemon water with that chemo? You got it. Radiation? No problem, everyone does it, it’s practically weed. We’ll serve you those chemicals with a smile. You’ll love them, you’ll see.
It’s strange the social normalcies we hold strong to, even in the midst of extraordinary circumstances. The rules we are unwilling to break.
I think that maybe that is what love is. Not the absence of space but the acknowledgment of it, the thing that lives between the parts, the thing that makes it possible not to be one, but to be different, to be two.
This is what marriage is, I know. Tiffs and comfortability, miscommunications and long stretches of silence. Years and years of support and care and imperfection.
You mistake love. You think it has to have a future in order to matter, but it doesn’t. It’s the only thing that does not need to become at all. It matters only insofar as it exists. Here. Now.
Hang in there. I know the road isn’t easy, but stay the course.
I wish you understood that you could have love beyond your wildest dreams. Stuff movies are made of. You’re meant for that, too.
Listen to me. You’re going to be fine. People do this all the time. They defy the odds. Every damn day.
I’m sick of being the person who fits in your life but not your ... fuck it, your heart.
I go to the window, right by the bed. I look out on that view. The water, the bridge, the lights. Manhattan on the water, shimmering like a promise. I think about how much life the city holds, how much heartbreak, how much love.