Clarice Lispector

And always in the sliver of time that followed nothing happened if she kept waiting for what was going to happen, you see?

“Daddy, what shall I do?”

“Go do your homework.”

“I’ve already done it.”

“Go play.”

“I’ve already played.”

“Then don’t pester me.”

but whenever she caught that something in her hand, like a fly, and then peeked at it—though she was careful not to let anything escape—she only found her own hand, rosy pink and disappointed. Yes, I know the air, the air! But it was no use, it didn’t explain things. That was one of her secrets.