Nichole Bernier Quotes & Sayings

The sun was strong, glinting off the bridge and hitting the river like shattered glass. — Nichole Bernier

The sweep of his arms was wide and athletic, more like a quarterback than a middling golfer who had dropped off the tour. — Nichole Bernier

But there are no real accidents, only decisions that feel like accidents, one after another, that take you down a certain road and take on a momentum that can't be reversed. — Nichole Bernier

That's the funny thing about people who don't fit into a box. They grow to infiltrate everything and when they suddenly go missing they are missing everywhere. — Nichole Bernier

Kate lowered her nose to Emily's head and breathed in Johnson's baby shampoo, a hormonal cocktail that among women who have children not long out of diapers drew the Pavlovian, ANOTHER. — Nichole Bernier

Kate made a concerted effort not to drift into mommy terrain when she was with them, though she sometimes slipped and saw their eyes glaze over, like her older sister's would. — Nichole Bernier

The sense of the missing member of the party was a fog low over the patio, changing the look and feel of everything. — Nichole Bernier

Was it possible, she wondered, to have solitude together? She tried to imagine what he would do if after dinner she went to his study back home with her book or her laptop, and sat on the couch there instead of in the living room as they had in the early years. He might glance over the top of his computer with a look of surprise and then a smile of welcome. Hey there. Or there might be a moment's hesitation. She'd sit quietly nearby, each of them feeling the weight of the other int he room and a dampening of his or her own thoughts, each looking up expectantly when the other shifted in a chair or looked off into the middle distance. She might offer a snippet of commentary about something she was reading, but it would not be easily understood out of context. After an hour or so she would stand and stretch, murmur that sh though she'd call it a night, and the following night she'd go back to the living room. It was a gift, solitude. But solitude with another person, that was an art. — Nichole Bernier