Away from Her About photography
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Grant Anderson: [reading to Fiona from, "Letters From Iceland" by; W.H. Auden] Isn't it true however far we've wandered into our provinces of persecution, where our regrets accuse, we keep returning back to the common faith from which we've all dissented, back to the hands, the feet, the faces? Children are always there and take the hands, even when they are most terrified. Those in love cannot make up their minds to go or stay. Artist and doctor return most often. Only the mad will never, never come back. For doctors keep on worrying while away, in case their skill is suffering or deserted. Lovers have lived so long with giants and elves, they want belief again in their own size. And the artist prays ever so gently, let me find pure all that can happen. Only uniqueness is success. For instance let me perceive the images of history. All that I push away with doubt and travel, today's and yesterdays alike, like bodies.
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[Grant is talking with Fiona about her desire to move into the Meadowlake nursing home]
Grant Anderson: You're sure?
Fiona: I'm sure.
Grant Anderson: You don't want to just get a sense of the place? I don't want to make this decision alone.
Fiona: [turns and stares blankly at Grant] What place?
[Grant stares back at Fiona, aghast]
Fiona: Just kidding.
[giggles]
Grant Anderson: [grinning] Fuck off.
Fiona: [smiling, then pensive] You're not making this decision alone, Grant. I've already made up my mind.
Grant Anderson: Okay.