Thursday, January 30, 2014
Monday, November 18, 2013
I couldn’t understand how boldness and sorrow, ‘how you’re so hard’ and ‘do you really care for me?’ could be so thoroughly bound together. Nor could I begin to fathom how someone so seemingly vulnerable, hesitant, and eager to confide so many uncertainties about herself could, with one and the same gesture, reach into my pants with unabashed recklessness and hold on to my cock and squeeze it.
Andre Aciman; Call Me By Your Name
Thursday, October 24, 2013
There were so many things I had loved as my own, and these things never ended up being mine.
Alison Espach; The Adults
Saturday, August 17, 2013
But I didn’t like boys. Boys never made sense to me. Their bones were too long for their skin, their acne-faces so red and wilting, they were too embarrassed to look you in the eye, too embarrassed not to look you in the eye, their mouse voices you could barely hear over the music, which was always blasting in my ear. Their breath was irregular and scentless, these boys were always overbrushing their teeth and overminting their mouths in cars, always playing music with not detectable melody, and no matter how long you listened, they never successfully communicated anything. I hated sitting in cars, and on couches and hugging with closed fists. I liked beards and full calves and throaty fire-crackling voices that crashed right into my throat, I liked men who tasted like something, who were a part of the world, who felt heavy on my chest, Mr. Basketball warm inside me.
Alison Espach; The Adults
Tuesday, July 30, 2013
How you live your life is your business. But remember, our hearts and our bodies are given to us only once. Most of us can’t help but live as though we’ve got two lives to live, one is the mockup, the other the finished version, and then there are all those versions in between. But there’s only one, and before you know it, your heart is worn out, and, as for your body, there comes a point when no one looks at it, much less wants to come near it. Right now there’s sorrow. I don’t envy the pain. But I envy you the pain.
This book completely wrecked me. The last part had me in tears, all of it. Despite being so short, it was a long, dense read. But it was certainly worth the wait. It packs a powerful chest punch.
Saturday, July 27, 2013
"There is nothing better than this," he said, and I worried he was right. I worried that once something had entered you, it would never leave—he would plant himself inside me and grow and grow until I was nothing but him.
Alison Espach; The Adults p 147
Saturday, June 22, 2013
I begin to learn there are certain things I shouldn’t tell her. Amy wants to be intimate with boys too, but to her this kind of conduct is slutty. I suppose it is. She, like most girls, has a different relationship to boys than I do. She engages in sexual acts with them if she wants, but from my vantage point it looks like she can take them or leave them if they are not just right. She considers whether she actually likes someone before she jumps into bed with him. She isn’t wracked with anxiety when there aren’t any boys around. And she doesn’t need them to live, which is what it feels like for me.
Kerry Cohen, Loose Girl: A memoir of promiscuity
Friday, March 15, 2013
If you’re reading to find friends, you’re in deep trouble. We read to find life, in all its possibilities. The relevant question isn’t “is this [character] a potential friend for me?” but “is this character alive?”
Wednesday, February 20, 2013
(How do you know you’re not Cool Girl? Because he says things like: “I like strong women.” If he says that to you, he will at some point fuck someone else. Because “I like strong women” is code for “I hate strong women.”)
Gillian Flynn; Gone Girl
Sunday, October 21, 2012
Small excerpt from Mother May I by Alma Villanueva
Saturday, October 20, 2012
When you love a woman, you love yourself, and it’s terrible really, how it seems perfectly possible to swallow the other. With a man you want to join, you want your ribs to connect like handcuffs. But with a woman if you swallow, she becomes you.
Suicide Blonde by Darcey Steinke (via bohemea)
Monday, October 8, 2012
And then I felt sad because I realized that once people are broken in certain ways, they can’t ever be fixed, and this is something nobody ever tells you when you are young and it never fails to surprise you as you grow older as you see the people in your life break one by one. You wonder when your turn is going to be, or if it’s already happened.
Life After God, Douglas Coupland (via lyriquediscorde) (via northerndownpour) (via buyhercandy) (via unicornology)
Saturday, September 29, 2012
But there are no real accidents, only decision that feel like accidents, one after another, that take you down a certain road and take on a momentum that can’t be reversed.
Nichole Bernier; The Unfinished Work of Elizabeth D p.108
Everything that they have seen and been told about love so far has been an inside perspective, and they are not prepared for the crashing weight of this exclusion. It dawns on them now how much they never saw and how little they were wanted, and with this dawning comes a painful reimagining of the self as peripheral, uninvited, and utterly minor.
Eleanor Catton; The Rehearsal
Monday, September 17, 2012
For the first time in his life Stanley saw that a woman was not simply a failed and hopelessly outmoded girl. She was a different creature entirely from the glossed and honeyed girls in the audition room: those girls, Stanley thought, could never play this woman until the day they become her, and from that day onward they could never play a girl.
Eleanor Catton; The Rehearsal
When it was real it wasn’t funny. When you touched someone, they were always with you. When his mouth was on mine, we held the same breath in the same moment, and when he was naked, his body was covered in tiny black hairs that stuck to my clothes even after I washed them. He had sowly become a part of me and when he was cruel, or cold, or acted like we couldn’t go on like this anymore it felt like he was ripping my limbs off, one at a time.
Alison Espach; The Adults p.157