8 февр. 2017 г.

Notes on a Scandal

& Barbara Covett: People trust me with their secrets. But who do I trust with mine?..

& Barbara Covett: The first day of a new term. Here come the local pubescent proles, the future plumbers and shop assistants and doubtless the odd terrorist, too.

& Barbara Covett: In the old days, we confiscated cigarettes and wank mags. Now it’s knives and crack cocaine. And they call it progress.

& Sandy Pabblem: «The history department functions as one would expect for a school of this intake. Examination results have been consistent for 30 years, below the national average but above the level of catastrophe. Recommendation, no change necessary.»...
    Barbara Covett: It took me most of the summer to write it.

& Sheba Hart: When you started, didn’t you want to give them a real education to help them overcome the poverty of their backgrounds?
    Barbara Covett: Oh, yes, of course. But one soon learns that teaching is crowd control... We’re a branch of the social services... Console yourself with the gems. That’s when it’s satisfying. You can make a real difference. The rest is just cattle-prod and pray.

& Barbara Covett: One must make an effort when one receives an invitation. The art of it is seeming not to.


& Barbara Covett: It’s a peculiar trait of the privileged, immediate incautious intimacy. But Sheba went well beyond the tendencies of her class. She was utterly candid, a novice confessing to the mother superior.

& Barbara Covett: It began to feel like our secret, and secrets can be seductive.

& Steven Connolly: Aren’t you gonna open it? It’s made of real fake gold.

& Steven Connolly: You’re a nice person and you’ve been cool and it’s been great, OK? But it was supposed to be fun, and now it’s a serious thing.

& Barbara Covett: They always let you down in the end. Jennifer said I was too intense. Meaning what, exactly? That I am loyal in my friendships? That I will go to the ends of the earth for someone I admire?

& Barbara Covett: People like Sheba think they know what it is to be lonely, but of the drip, drip of long-haul, no-end-in-sight solitude, they know nothing.
    What it’s like to construct an entire weekend around a visit to the launderette or to be so chronically untouched that the accidental brush of a bus conductor’s hand sends a jolt of longing straight to your groin.
    Of this, Sheba and her like have no clue.


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