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The Queen’s lips curved, the same smile that Eve had tossed over her shoulder at Adam, that had been used by the Sirens in Ancient Greece, that Medusa gave a moment before turning a man to stone. “La puissance,” she said. Power.
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I’m supposed to say, It’s fine. Because a man who argues is ambitious, but a woman who argues is just a bitch.”
if you didn’t put yourself out there to be rejected, you couldn’t get hurt.
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“Just think, two weeks ago you only wanted a play produced,” Andre said. “Now you want biblical vengeance.” “I’m an overachiever,” she said.
There was such magic in language. It could bring you to tears, pull you to the edge of your seat, make you sigh with relief. It could draw you out of the world when you needed to escape, and at other times hold up a looking glass to the world as it was.
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“You wish for everyone to know your name; I wish for no one to know mine.”
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“I can’t undo what I’ve already done,” Melina said. “But I’m not the first author to pretend to be a man just to get traction in her career. The Brontës did it. George Eliot. George Sand. J. K. Rowling.” “Maybe that’s why she doesn’t understand gender,” Andre muttered. “But the point is, Mel, we all know who those writers are now. They eventually revealed themselves. You…you’re erasing yourself.”
Like someone bringing pennies for the crossing of the river Styx, her daughter would carry these words on her journey. “So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,” Emilia said, kissing her daughter’s cold forehead, “so long lives this, and this gives life to thee.”
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