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“So many questions crowd my brain at once, it’s like one of the famous Portland fogs has swept up from the ocean and settled there, making it impossible to think normal, functional thoughts. We’re sitting on the floor of the living room, which is squashed up right next to the “dining roomâ€�, and I’m holding Jenny's workbook on my knees, reciting the problems to her, but my mind is on autopilot and my thoughts are a million miles away. Or rather, they’re exactly 3.4 miles away, down at the marshy edge of Back Cove.”
― Lauren Oliver, Delirium

“I know there’s this ongoing Portland/Brooklyn spar for über hipdom (and I have to be careful here, because my agent lives in Brooklyn), but Portland is the least derivative place I’ve ever been. The folks here do what they do in defiance of norm or trend. The spirit of authenticity in Portland is as contagious as a February flu.”
― Suzy Vitello

“In terms of sheer annoyance, nobody I have ever known has compared to Sare Worthington, saver of the environment, native of Portland, Maine, forever wishing that she were from Portland, Oregon. Bitch should have just moved there.”
― Caroline Kepnes, You

“Portland was a dream both in the literal sense and the metaphorical sense, both tangible and not - a fleeting affair you want to hold on to but can't, so you try memorizing her every detail only to fail to do so in the consumption, in the savoring, in the absorbing of yourself into her. When she's gone, she comes to you in snippets, replaying in your mind like a fragmented picture show.”
― Jackie Haze, Borderless

“How was I supposed to survive here? These Portlanders were an entirely different breed of white people.”
― Gabby Rivera, Juliet Takes a Breath

“I have a hunch the world is darker than I could ever imagine and there is less reason for hope than I am able to see. It makes me grateful there is only so much I can see, and I am left mostly with questions. Grateful, also, that hope is not a reasonable thing. Though I have seen my share of darkness, I am spared perceiving much of it. And here is why I hope beyond a reasonable doubt: I think that as the darkness grows, it makes the dim lights that are left seem brighter. And the darker it gets, the brighter the light appears, until it is so luminous, eventually, even falling shadows are filled with it.”
― Brian K. Friesen, At the Waterline

“Portland could have been any city. Port Clyde was too uncluttered to be anything else. There is a reason Stephen King sets his stories in little Maine towns. They are too quiet to be believed wholly savory.”
― Thomm Quackenbush, Holidays with Bigfoot

“The little car was soon free of the city, for the smear of suburbia that had once lain along the western highways for miles was gone. During the Plague Years of the eighties, when in some areas not one person in twenty remained alive, the suburbs were not a good place to be. Miles from the supermart, no gas for the car, and all the split-level ranch homes around you full of the dead. No help, no food. Packs of huge status-symbol dogs—Afghans, Alsatians, Great Danes—running wild across the lawns ragged with burdock and plantain. Picture window cracked. Who’ll come and mend the broken glass? People had huddled back into the old core of the city; and once the suburbs had been looted, they burned. Like Moscow in 1812, acts of God or vandalism: they were no longer wanted, and they burned. Fireweed, from which bees make the finest honey of all, grew acre after acre over the sites of Kensington Homes West, Sylvan Oak Manor Estates, and Valley Vista Park.”
― Ursula K. Le Guin, The Lathe of Heaven

“Our laughter became more raucous as our fooling around intensified. All this suddenly ended when we heard a loud intense knocking on the door. Once again, the doctor had had enough and came up to complain about the noise we were making. These old houses didn’t have any insulation between the walls to dampen the noise. Instead, it was kind of like being inside a drum. In a way, I could understand why he was upset and we could have been more considerate, but on the other hand, we just didn’t give a damn! It might also have been that he knew what we were doing and didn’t like it. In the puritanical 1950’s this sort of thing was frequently frowned upon and perhaps still is, but inconsiderate as it may have been, we didn’t care! Es tut mir leid! (German for I’m sorry! Said in a sarcastic way.)
Laughing, Ann told the doctor that we would behave. As he started back down the stairs, she turned to me and said, “Let’s go down to the basement.”
― Captain Hank Bracker, "Salty & Saucy Maine"

“Prior to my first voyage at sea, my father advised me to always get to know the cooks. Sometimes I’d step in and wash pots and pans or help lift a heavy case of something. It worked on my first voyage and still did now. Many times I’d help carry boxes of food and store their contents in the pantry. So after dropping a few hints, the cooks did me a favor and put out a box containing milk, butter, cocoa, sugar and flour. This acquisition was for the rich chocolate brownies that Ann would make for me to bring back to the ship. They must have been the most delicious brownies since everyone, including the cooks, expected me to bring them some. When I got to the galley, I could see the box they had prepared for me sitting on a counter, but I was looking through a heavy wire mesh securing the area, and the only access door had one of the big brass government locks on it. For a fleeting moment, I thought that I would not be able to get the precious ingredients that were so near and yet inaccessible, but it didn’t take long for me to figure out that I could climb over the top where a section of the mesh was missing. It took some gymnastics, but I was young and agile enough to get in and out with the box, without leaving any evidence of the entry. When I think of some of the chances I took for the most ridiculous reasons, I’m surprised that I ever made it to graduation, but everyone counted on me to deliver the brownies and I wasn’t about to let them down. I later found out that the cooks purposely left the galley unlocked for me, but then someone on the security watch took it upon themselves to lock it. Who knows?”
― Hank Bracker

“Finally I just put the box containing the brownie mix down into the snow, crouched down against a building, and pulled my pea coat over my head. Breathing into it, I managed to generate a little heat. I pressed the flaps of the coat against my ears until I could feel them again. Aside from my frozen feet, I warmed up enough this way to be able to continue. Picking up the box, I got up and once again faced the harsh elements. There was little sign of life, and with this cold wind, I could easily have gotten frostbite. Most people who lived in Maine had better sense than to be out under these arctic conditions. The plows had not cleared the streets yet, and behind me I could see a lone car spinning its wheels, trying in vain to make the steep grade. Once again I had to put down the box. I took off my gloves and tried to warm my hands by blowing onto them, as I did a little dance stomping my feet, but nothing helped anymore; my hands and feet were numb. When I picked the box up again, the bottom was caked with snow, making matters even worse! With only a short distance left I thought about Ann and the aroma from baking brownies, so I continued trudging on.
I could now see the statue of Longfellow, slouched in his massive chair. “Hi, Henry. What do you think of this glorious weather?â€� Not getting an answer was answer enough. I was convinced that his bronze butt was frozen to the chair, but in spite of the weather, he still looked comfortable!”
― Captain Hank Bracker, "Salty & Saucy Maine"

“When the sun comes out in Portland, the city changes. All spring, there are hints of how good it’s going to be. It’s a Saturday morning, you walk outdoors and there are no clouds. Suddenly, you see people emerging from their homes, looking at the sky, confused. Everyone just stands there, soaking up the vitamin D. A few minutes later, they snap out of their stupor. They say: “Oh. Outside! I get it! This is how life used to be!â€� Sunglasses are uncovered, bikes are taken out of storage, and men remember what women are. People point their cameras toward the sky, take a picture of pure blue and immediately post it online. The caption will be a series of capitalized vowels followed by a field of exclamation points. But this is just a tease, because it will rain again. The city has to wait for the Fourth of July. After that, there won’t be rain for four months. That four months is what Portland is all about.”
― Alexander Barrett, This Is Portland, 2nd Edition: The City You've Heard You Should Like

“Trying to decide---I can't say if you should wait in line at Salt & Straw or Voodoo Doughnuts. Do you have a preference?"
"Not waiting in line? Portlanders are surprisingly willing to wait for their food."
"They're willing to wait when the food is worth their time. I think Salt & Straw. And really, they've got a smart setup to keep your wait as short as possible, and they give out samples while you're in line. At least, they did when I was there."
"And this is... artisanal salt? And straw?"
"It's ice cream," I said with a laugh. "Really good ice cream, with fun, inventive flavors. And even if you don't want inventive, the basics are worth the wait."
"Well, if you're sending me to ice cream, then you have to get Cat to take you to Black Dog Gelato. Once you're back in Chicago, at least.”
― Hillary Manton Lodge, Together at the Table

“New England is a dream handspun by good vibes.”
― Lakshya Bharadwaj