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  • #1
    Victoria Schwab
    “Time moves so fucking fast.

    Blink, and you’re halfway through school, paralyzed by the idea that whatever you choose to do, it means choosing not to do a hundred other things, so you change your major half a dozen times before finally ending up in theology, and for a while it seems like the right path, but that’s really just a reflex to the pride on your parents’ faces, because they assume they’ve got a budding rabbi, but the truth is, you have no desire to practice, you see the holy texts as stories, sweeping epics, and the more you study, the less you believe in any of it.

    Blink, and you’re twenty-four, and you travel through Europe, thinking—hoping—that the change will spark something in you, that a glimpse of the greater, grander world will bring your own into focus. And for a little while, it does. But there’s no job, no future, only an interlude, and when it’s over, your bank account is dry, and you’re not any closer to anything.

    Blink, and you’re twenty-six, and you’re called into the dean’s office because he can tell that your heart’s not in it anymore, and he advises you to find another path, and he assures you that you’ll find your calling, but that’s the whole problem, you’ve never felt called to any one thing. There is no violent push in one direction, but a softer nudge a hundred different ways, and now all of them feel out of reach.

    Blink and you’re twenty-eight, and everyone else is now a mile down the road, and you’re still trying to find it, and the irony is hardly lost on you that in wanting to live, to learn, to find yourself, you’ve gotten lost.”
    V.E. Schwab, The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue

  • #2
    Victoria Schwab
    “If a person cannot leave a mark, do they exist?”
    V.E. Schwab, The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue

  • #3
    Victoria Schwab
    “History is a thing designed in retrospect.”
    V.E. Schwab, The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue

  • #4
    Donna Tartt
    “Some things are too terrible to grasp at once. Other things - naked, sputtering, indelible in their horror - are too terrible to really grasp ever at all. It is only later, in solitude, in memory that the realization dawns: when the ashes are cold; when the mourners have departed; when one looks around and finds oneself - quite to one's surprise - in an entirely different world.”
    Donna Tartt, The Secret History

  • #5
    Taylor Jenkins Reid
    “No one is just a victim or a victor. Everyone is somewhere in between. People who go around casting themselves as one or the other are not only kidding themselves, but they're also painfully unoriginal.”
    Taylor Jenkins Reid, The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo

  • #6
    Taylor Jenkins Reid
    “It’s not wrong,” Celia said. “It shouldn’t be wrong, to love you. How can it be wrong?”
    “It’s not wrong, sweetheart. It’s not,” I said. “They’re wrong.”
    Taylor Jenkins Reid, The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo

  • #7
    Madeline Miller
    “Humbling women seems to me a chief pastime of poets. As if there can be no story unless we crawl and weep.”
    Madeline Miller, Circe

  • #8
    Madeline Miller
    “But perhaps no parent can truly see their child. When we look we see only the mirror of our own faults.”
    Madeline Miller, Circe

  • #9
    Aja Gabel
    “One day we won't be strangers to each other. We only be new”
    Aja Gabel, Little Fish

  • #10
    Czesław Miłosz
    “When a writer is born into a family, the family is finished.”
    Czeslaw Milosz

  • #11
    Emily Brontë
    “He shall never know I love him: and that, not because he's handsome, but because he's more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made out of, his and mine are the same.”
    Emily Brontë, Wuthering Heights

  • #12
    George Eliot
    “We could never have loved the earth so well if we had had no childhood in it, if it were not the earth where the same flowers come up again every spring that we used to gather with our tiny fingers as we sat lisping to ourselves on the grass, the same hips and haws on the autumn hedgerows, the same redbreasts that we used to call ‘God’s birds’ because they did no harm to the precious crops. What novelty is worth that sweet monotony where everything is known and loved because it is known?”
    George Eliot, The Mill on the Floss



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