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“I can't love you again," Ben said, his heart aching on the words. "How can I, when I never stopped? I couldn't stop loving you when I hated you so much it made me sick to think about you. I used to dream about killing you and wake up crying because I thought you were dead. I can't not love you. I don't know how.”
― K.J. Charles, Jackdaw

“But the life of a Willa Cather, a Lillian Helman, a Virginia Woolf - - - would it not be a series of rapid ascents and probing descents into shades and meanings - into more people, ideas, and conceptions? Would it not be in color, rather than black-and-white, or more gray? I think it would. And thus, I not being them, could try to be more like them: to listen, observe, and feel, and try to live most fully.”
― Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath

“I wanted to crawl in between those black lines of print the way you crawl through a fence, and go to sleep under that beautiful big green fig tree.”
― Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar

“Decades later, my mother will throw out a casual remark about how easy I was as a teenager and I'll be shocked anew that she never knew, that she never even tried to know.”
― Lamya H., Hijab Butch Blues