Hello friends. This post is a collection of quotes from the book - The Husband's Secret by Liane Moriarty. The Husband's Secret is a tense, page-turning story which gradually draws everyone together in a devastating climax.
She'd learned that with her daughters. Don't say a word. Don't ask a question. Give them enough time and they'd finally tell you what was on their mind. It was like fishing. It took silence and patience.
Oh yes, her husband was hopeless, and lost things and ran late, but he took care of his wife and daughters in that old-fashioned, responsible, I-am-the-man-and-this-is-my-job way.
Family life, even with just one little boy, had its own familiar rhythms and it was perfectly possible to keep right on dancing like you always had, even when your mind was somewhere else.
Ed believed that people who had televisions in their bedroom were akin to cocaine addicts: weak, debauched types. The bedroom, according to Ed, was for a prayer on your knees next to the bed, your head resting on your fingertips, lips moving rapidly, followed by sex, followed by sleep.
She wished she could give Isabel a shield, like the ones riot police held, to protect her from male attention: that feeling of being scored each time you walked down a street, the demeaning comments yelled out of cars, that casual sweep of the eyes. She'd wanted to sit down and talk to Isabel about it, but then she hadn't known what to say. She'd never quite got her head around it herself. It's no big deal. It is a big deal. They have no right to make you feel that way. Or, just ignore it, one day you'll turn forty and you'll slowly realise you don't feel the eyes any more, and the freedom is a relief, but you'll also sort of miss it, and when a truck driver whistles at you while you're crossing the road, you'll think, Really? For me?
Sometimes love just strikes! It just happens! Out of the blue!
People thought that tragedy made you wise, that it automatically elevated you to a higher, spiritual level, but it seemed to Rachel that just the opposite was true. Tragedy made you petty and spiteful. It didn't give you any great knowledge or insight. She didn't understand a damned thing about life except that it was arbitrary and cruel, and some people got away with murder, while others made one tiny careless mistake and paid a terrible price.
There was no such thing as a good divorce for children. [...] Even when the split was perfectly amicable, even when both parents made a huge effort, the children suffered.
Tess preferred people from her past to stay in the past. Ex-boyfriends, old school friends, past colleagues – really, what was the point of them? Lives moved on.
Apparently moving back home was just like joining Facebook, when middle-aged ex-boyfriends came crawling out of the woodwork like cockroaches, suggesting 'drinks', putting out their little feelers for potential affairs.
Cecilia thought she'd experienced anger before, plenty of times, but now she knew that she'd had no idea how real anger felt. The white-hot burning purity of it. It was a frantic, crazy, wonderful feeling. She felt like she could fly. She could fly across the room, like a demon, and claw bloody scratch marks down John-Paul's face.
Did one act define who you were forever? Did one evil act as a teenager counteract twenty years of marriage, of good marriage, twenty years of being a good husband and a good father?
Nobody ever told you that being a mother was all about making what seemed like thousands of tiny decisions.
This was how it could be done. This was how you lived with a secret. You just did it. You pretended everything was fine. You ignored the deep, cramp-like pain in your stomach. You somehow anesthetised yourself, so that nothing felt that bad, but nothing felt that good either.
A son is a son until he takes him a wife, a daughter is a daughter for all of her life.
Sometimes there was the pure, primal pain of grief; and other times there was anger, the frantic desire to claw and hit and kill; and sometimes, like right now, there was just this ordinary, dull sensation, settling itself softly, suffocatingly over her like a heavy fog. She was just so damned sad.
He loved Tess, presumably he did, but right now he was in love with Felicity, and everyone knew which was the more powerful feeling. It wasn't a fair fight. It was why marriages fell apart. It was why, if you valued your marriage, you kept a barricade around yourself and your feelings and your thoughts. You didn't let your eyes linger. You didn't stay for the second drink. You kept the flirting safe. You just didn't go there. At some point Will had made a choice to look at Felicity with the eyes of a single man. That was the moment he had betrayed Tess.
Oh, you sweet, innocent young man, you know nothing about blame. You have no idea of what your parishioners are capable. Do you think any of us really confess our real sins to you? Our terrible sins?
Falling in love was easy. Anyone could fall. It was holding on that was tricky.
Perhaps nothing was ever 'meant to be'. There was just life, and right now, and doing your best. Being a bit 'bendy'.
You could try as hard as possible to imagine someone else's tragedy - drowning in icy waters, living in a city split by a wall - but nothing truly hurt until it happened to you. Most of all, to your child.
Marriage was a form of insanity; love hovering permanently on the edge of aggravation.
It wasn't logical, but the better you knew someone, the more blurry they became. The accumulation of facts made them disappear. It was more interesting wondering if someone did or didn't like country music than knowing one way or the other.
The unthinkable happened, and the world kept turning, and people still talked at length about the weather, and there were still traffic jams and electricity bills, celebrity scandals and political coups.
None of us ever know all the possible courses our lives could have, and maybe should have, taken. It's probably just as well. Some secrets are meant to stay secret forever. Just ask Pandora.