Great lines from Olive Kitteridge

From "Incoming Tide":

When he got his medical degree from Chicago, attending the ceremony only because one of his teachers-a kind woman, who had said it would sadden her to have him not there-he sat beneath the full sun, listening to the president of the university say in his final words to them, "To love and be loved is the most important thing in life," causing Kevin to feel an inward fear that grew through him, as though his very soul were tightening. But what a thing to say--the man in his venerable robe, white hair, grandfatherly face--he must've had no idea those words could cause such an exacerbation of the silent dread in Kevin. Even Freud had said, "We must love or we grow ill." They were spelling it out for him.  Every billboard, movie, magazine cover, television ad--it all spelled it out for him: We belong to the world of family and love. And you don't.

(I just now noticed that awkward repetition of "spell" there. The passage is so beautiful I missed it the first time.)

From "Basket of Trips" (Olive observing an act of affection from a girl toward her mother at the wake for her father's funeral):

And Olive, watching all this, feels--what? Jealousy? No, you don't feel jealous of a woman whose husband has been lost. But an unreachability, that's how she'd put it. This plump, kind-natured woman sitting on the couch surrounded by children, her cousin, friends--she is unreachable to Olive. Olive is aware of the disappointment this brings.

From "Security":

Stepping into the little closet of a bathroom, she flicked on the light, and saw in the mirror that across her blue cotton blouse was a long and prominent strip of sticky dark butterscotch sauce. A small feeling of distress took hold. They had seen this and not told her. She had become the old lady her Aunt Ora had been, when years ago she and Henry would take the old lady out for a drive, stopping some nights to get an ice cream, and Olive had watched as Aunt Ora had spilled melted ice cream down her front; she had felt repulsion at the sight of it. In fact, she was glad when Ora died, and Olive didn't have to continue to witness the pathetic sight. 

And now she had become Ora. But she wasn't Aunt Ora and her son should have pointed this out the minute it happened...Did they think she was just one more baby they were carting around? 

 
From "River" (the closing lines and the last story in the collection):

They were here, and her body-old, big, sagging-felt straight-out desire for his. That she had not loved Henry this way for many years before he died saddened her enough to make her close her eyes.

.......

And so, if this man next to her now was not a man she would have chosen before this time, what did it matter? He most likely wouldn't have chosen her either. But here they were, and Olive pictured two slices of Swiss cheese pressed together, such holes they brought to this union--what pieces life took out of you.

Her eyes were closed, and thought her tired self swept waves of gratitude and regret. She pictured the sunny room, the sun-washed wall, the bayberry outside. It baffled her, the world. She did not want to leave it yet.