Marilù

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Born to be Mild
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The Good Immigran...
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by Nikesh Shukla (Goodreads Author)
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Nov 20, 2020 03:18AM

 
This Brutal House
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by Niven Govinden (Goodreads Author)
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"Sadly, I had to DNF this book. As much as I loved the premise, it really didn't work for me. I thought it was beautiful at first, until it became hard to follow and the writing started feeling very heavy and boring." Nov 05, 2020 04:00AM

 
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Anne Sexton
“Writers are such phonies: they sometimes have wise insights but they don't live by them at all. That's what writers are like...you think they know something, but usually they are just messes.”
Anne Sexton, Anne Sexton: A Self-Portrait in Letters

Caprice Crane
“That red spot!” she says with alarm.
“That’s a freckle!”
“It wasn’t there before...” she says as she inspects her entire arm.
“It’s cute.”
“It’s not cute.”
“Then it’s mine,” I say. “If you don’t like it, it’s mine. I’ll call it Brady.”
“My freckle?”
“Yes.”
“You’re naming my freckle after yourself?” she says. “And you think I have issues?”
“It’s like a star. People buy stars in the constellation and name them after people al the time. As gifts.”
“So then are you buying my freckle? Because I don’t know if you can afford my freckle. My freckles don’t come cheap, you know.”
“I’ve already claimed it,” I declare. “It’s not up for discussion anymore. Just eat your ice cream. And don’t spill any on Brady.”
Caprice Crane, Stupid and Contagious

Anne Sexton
Words

Be careful of words,
even the miraculous ones.
For the miraculous we do our best,
sometimes they swarm like insects
and leave not a sting but a kiss.
They can be as good as fingers.
They can be as trusty as the rock
you stick your bottom on.
But they can be both daisies and bruises.
Yet I am in love with words.
They are doves falling out of the ceiling.
They are six holy oranges sitting in my lap.
They are the trees, the legs of summer,
and the sun, its passionate face.
Yet often they fail me.
I have so much I want to say,
so many stories, images, proverbs, etc.
But the words aren't good enough,
the wrong ones kiss me.
Sometimes I fly like an eagle
but with the wings of a wren.
But I try to take care
and be gentle to them.
Words and eggs must be handled with care.
Once broken they are impossible
things to repair.”
Anne Sexton, The Complete Poems

Frida Kahlo
“I want to be inside your darkest everything”
Frida Kahlo, The Diary of Frida Kahlo: An Intimate Self-Portrait

Lisa Kleypas
“You’re beautiful, Evie,” came his soft comment.
Having been raised by relations who had always lamented the garish color of her hair and the proliferation of freckles, Evie gave him a skeptical smile. “Aunt Florence has always given me a bleaching lotion to make my freckles vanish. But there’s no getting rid of them.”
Sebastian smiled lazily as he came to her. Taking her shoulders in his hands, he slid an appraising glance along her half-clad body. “Don’t remove a single freckle, sweet. I found some in the most enchanting places. I already have my favorites… shall I tell you where they are?”
Disarmed and discomfited, Evie shook her head and made a movement to twist away from him. He wouldn’t let her, however. Pulling her closer, he bent his golden head and kissed the side of her neck. “Little spoilsport,” he whispered, smiling. “I’m going to tell you anyway.” His fingers closed around a handful of the chemise and eased the hem slowly upward. Her breath caught as she felt his fingers nuzzling tenderly between her bare legs. “As I discovered earlier,” he said against her sensitive throat, “there’s a trail inside your right thigh that leads to—”
A knock at the door interrupted them, and Sebastian lifted his head with a grumble of annoyance. “Breakfast,” he muttered. “And I wouldn’t care to make you choose between my lovemaking or a hot meal, as the answer would likely be unflattering.”
Lisa Kleypas, Devil in Winter

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