what i loved

• aşağıdaki alıntılarla anacağım eser.
  
  ...making art was necessary for bill to maintain a minimal equilibrium, to keep himself going.
  
  he played with mark and a couple of other friends after school. he threw himself into baseball and drawings and the race for good grades. he puzzled over arithmetic and science, composed little essays with painstaking care and terrible spelling, and zealously pursued his at-home projects - a bookland collage, a spanish galleon in clay that melted in the oven and the memorably interminable business of a solar system in papér-mache. for a week matt, erica and i labored over slimy pieces of newspaper, wrapping and pasting and measuring the dimensions of venus and mars and uranus and the moon. three times saturn's ring slumped and had to be redone. when the project was all finished and hang from thin silver wires, mark turned to me and said, "i like the earth best," and it was true. his earth was beautiful.
  
  ...the past is always eating up the present.
  
  i accepted the story for two reasons. i recognized that the truth is often muddled, a tangle of mishaps and blunders that converge to appear unlikely, and when i looked at mark as he stood before me with his large steady blue eyes, i was absolutely convinced that he was telling the truth.
  "i know i mess up," he said. "but i really don't mean to."
  "we all mess up," i said.
  
  i shook my head and looked at the hydrengea tree. i felt lost to myself at that moment, as thpugh another person were speaking. i kept my eyes on the tree, and there was something red in my mind, very red through a window.
  
  if mark and teenie were any indication, these kids had little fervor. they weren't futurists glorifying the aesthetics of violence or anarchists advocating liberation from the reigns of law. they were hedonists, i suppose, but even the taking of pleasure seemed to bore them.
  
  ... a room where he held on to those who loved him and whom he loved.
  
  no one spoke, and in the quiet, i could hear the ticking of the clock that hung to the right of the door - a big-faced old school clock with clear black numbers - and i found myself atruggling to understand how time can be measured on a disc, a circle with hands that return to the same positions over and over again. that logical revolution looked like a mistake. time isn't circular, i thought. that's wrong. but the memory didn't let go of me. i continued - vehement, acute, inescapable.