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“What was astonishing to him was how people seemed to run out of their own being, run out of whatever the stuff was that made them who they were and, drained of themselves, turn into the sort of people they would have once have felt sorry for. It was as though while their lives were rich and full they were secretly sick of themselves and couldn't wait to dispose of their sanity and their health and all sense of proportion so as to get down to that other self, the true self, who was a wholly deluded fuckup. It was as though being in tune with life was an accident that might sometimes befall the fortunate young but was otherwise something for which human beings lacked any real affinity. How odd. And how odd it made him seem to be numbered among the countless unembattled normal ones might, in fact, be the abnormality, a stranger from real life because of his being so sturdily rooted.”
― Philip Roth, American Pastoral

“By the time she had finished unburdening herself, someone had turned off the moon”
― Gabriel García Márquez, Love in the Time of Cholera

“But Wolfheart freezes in the middle of the movement. Between him and the blood covered man stands a woman who looks so small and frail that the wind should be able to pass right through her
...Every ounce of her seems to be yelling at her to run for her life. But she stays where she is, staring at Wolfheart with the resolute gaze of someone who has nothing left to lose.
She rolls up the tumble-dryer fluff in the palm of one hand and clasps her hands over her stomach; then looks at with determination at Wolfheart and says with complete authority: "We don't beat people to death in this leaseholders' association.”
― Fredrik Backman, My Grandmother Asked Me to Tell You She's Sorry

“When you spend your life with someone, they become a part of you.”
― Natasha Diaz, Color Me In

“It’s true, Faery does not have the internet. Nor cars, flying or otherwise. But our air and water are clean. Our people are nourished, body and mind. And all of my children, from the largest dragon to the smallest pixie, are protected from those that would seek to harm them. Perhaps, Wyatt, you should consider that this world is not primitive. It is your own ideas of progress that need to catch up.”
― H.E. Edgmon, The Fae Keeper