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Sawkill Girls
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by Claire Legrand (Goodreads Author)
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  (page 130 of 458)
Apr 11, 2020 01:42AM

May We Be Forgiven
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  (page 59 of 480)
Mar 29, 2020 12:29AM

Listen, Liberal: ...
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See all 6 books that Kiana is reading…
Libba Bray
“So. Tell me,” Marlowe tried gamely, “what do you think is man’s greatest invention?”

Jericho turned his head just slightly toward Marlowe, looking him straight in the eye. “God.”
Libba Bray, Lair of Dreams

Victoria Schwab
“Plenty of humans were monstrous, and plenty of monsters knew how to play at being human.”
Victoria Schwab, Vicious

Alice Hoffman
“Anything whole can be broken,” Isabelle told her. “And anything broken can be put back together again. That is the meaning of Abracadabra. I create what I speak.”
Alice Hoffman, The Rules of Magic

Donna Tartt
“Because I don’t care what anyone says or how often or winningly they say it: no one will ever, ever be able to persuade me that life is some awesome, rewarding treat. Because, here’s the truth: life is a catastrophe. The basic fact of existence – of walking around trying to feed ourselves and find friends and whatever else we do – is a catastrophe. Forget all this ridiculous ‘Our Town’ nonsense everyone talks: the miracle of a newborn babe, the joy of one simple blossom, Life You Are Too Wonderful To Grasp, &c. For me – and I’ll keep repeating it doggedly till I die, till I fall over on my ungrateful nihilistic face and am too weak to say it: better never born, than born into this cesspool. Sinkhole of hospital beds, coffins, and broken hearts. No release, no appeal, no “do-overs” to employ a favored phrase of Xandra’s, no way forward but age and loss, and no way out but death.”
Donna Tartt, The Goldfinch
tags: life

Donna Tartt
“And just as music is the space between notes, just as the stars are beautiful because of the space between them, just as the sun strikes raindrops at a certain angle and throws a prism of color across the sky - so the space where I exist, and I want to keep existing, and to be quite frank I hope I die in, is exactly this middle distance: where despair struck pure otherness and created something sublime.”
Donna Tartt, The Goldfinch

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