Namesake Quotes

“Their daughter was born just before sunrise. She had skin the color of cedarwood and eyes like wheat.
They named her for an old, half-forgotten god from Ade's own world, whom Yule had studied once in an ancient text preserved in Nin's archives. He was a strange god, depicted in the faded manuscript with two faces staring both backward and forward. He presided not over once particular domain but over the places between- past and present, here and there, endings and beginnings- over doorways, in short.
But Ade thought Janus sounded too much like Jane, and she'd be damned if any daughter of hers would be named Jane. They named her after the god's own month instead: January.


Oh, my sweet daughter, my perfect January, I would beg for your forgiveness, but I lack the courage.
All I can ask for is your belief. Believe in doors and worlds and the Written. Believe most of all in our love for you- even if the only evidence we've left you is contained in the book you now hold.”
― Alix E. Harrow, The Ten Thousand Doors of January

“My mother looked at me then, with something in her eyes I’d never seen before. A reverence. As if something marvelous and at the same time harrowing had just happened. She blinked, pulling me between her and Saint, and I burrowed in, their warmth instantly making me feel like a child again.”
― Adrienne Young, Namesake

“And hope is but a dream of those that wake.”
― Matthew Prior

“Last to check was her namesake: a rampion or bellflower, Campanula rapunculus-- little turnip. All by itself in a beautiful Spanish clay pot with a bright blue glaze. Its blooms were pinky-purple stars, tiny but perfect and delicate.
Sometimes, if she was feeling down, Rapunzel would secretly break off a leaf and chew it, the sour/bitter taste comforting her through the worst of the drab winter months when nothing else grew.”
― Liz Braswell, What Once Was Mine

“All of both (Native American) sexes go about naked…They (women) have another custom, very shameful
and beyond all human belief. For their women, being very lustful, cause the private parts
of their husbands to swell up to such a huge size that they appear deformed…They (men)
marry as many wives as they please; and son cohabits with mother, male cousin with
female, and any man with the first woman he meets. They dissolve their marriages as
often as they please…The women as I have said go about naked and are very libidinous,
yet they have tolerably beautiful bodies and cleanly…When they had the opportunity of
copulating with Christians, urged by excessive lust, they defiled and prostituted
themselves.”
― Amerigo Vespucci

“Tell me about your children," he said.
"What would you like to know?"
"Anything. How did you decide on their names?"
"Justin was named after my husband's favorite uncle- a dear old bachelor who always brought him books when he was ill. My younger son, Stephen, was named after a character in an adventure novel Lord Clare and I read when we were children."
"What was the title?"
"I can't tell you; you'll think it's silly. It is silly. But we both loved it. We read it dozens of times. I had to send Henry my copy, after-"
After you stole his.
In Henry's view, the worst of West Ravenel's offenses had been stealing his copy of Stephen Armstrong: Treasure Hunter from a box of possessions beneath his bed at school. Although there had never been proof of the thief's identity, Henry had remembered that Ravenel had previously mocked him when he'd seen him reading it. "I know he's the one," Henry had written. "He's probably done something awful with it. Dropped it down the privy. I'd be surprised if the nincompoop can even read."
"Someday when we're big," Phoebe had written in response, full of righteous vengeance, "we'll go thrash him together and take it back from him."
But now she was sitting next to him at dinner.
"-after he lost his copy," she finished awkwardly.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Devil's Daughter

“Flakes fell softly, covering the already frozen castle grounds. When she stuck out her tongue, she could feel the flakes land on it. The little droplets of frozen water had the same name she did: Snow.
Was she named for the snow or was the snow named for her? That's what she wondered. She was a princess, so the weather could have been named after her.
Then again, snow had been around a lot longer than she had. She was only seven.”
― Jen Calonita, Mirror, Mirror

“The night you were born, I remember having a vision, a vision like this, of us with this feeling in our hearts. Like anything was possible because we were loved and free. That vision filled me with so much hope, I scratched out your name on the birth certificate and put down the only word that could describe how I felt. Ashna.”
― Sonali Dev, Recipe for Persuasion

“The North Star is the brightest star in that constellation. Stella Polaris in Latin. But did you know it was also called Stella Maris in the Middle Ages? Star of the Sea? That's actually one of the names they used to call the Virgin Mary."
Lisbeth looked at her with interest. "Really? That's exactly what she said. That little girl. She said her name was Star of the Sea."
Maya nodded. "Yes, exactly. 'Our lady, star of the sea' was one of the Holy Virgin's names.”
― Anne Østby, Pieces of Happiness

“Sirrah, thou art a coarse and rough-hewn fellow but i fain noteth thy first name Stewart bears a pleasing w'rding and, thus, lurks a grise of gentle spirit about thy p'rson. Bemock all Stuarts and maketh this keeper of the estate our w'rthy guardian!”
― Stewart Stafford

“This is Bad. Sindbad, I mean." I'd wanted to name him after a great explorer, but none of them seemed to fit. Dr. Livingstone and Mr. Stanley were obvious choices (Mr. Locke so admired them he even had Stanley's own revolver on display in his office, a narrow-nosed Enfield that he cleaned and oiled on a weekly basis), but they made me think of that shriveled African arm in its glass case. Magellan was too long, Drake too boring, Columbus too bumbling; in the end I'd named him after the only explorer who rendered the world stranger and more wondrous with each voyage.”
― Alix E. Harrow, The Ten Thousand Doors of January

“Every God's gift has a purpose! First, is for His name's sake.”
― Bruce Mbanzabugabo

“Bob is a perfectly fine name. So is Baboo."
"And Layla is a lovely name," Bob said. "Did you know it means 'dark beauty' in Arabic? It suits you."
"Thank you." Her smile faded when Sam scowled.
"It's a tragic name," Sam said. "Very unlucky. I'm sure you know the Arabian legend of Qays and Layla, a young couple who fell so deeply in love they were unable to contain their passionate devotion."
"What exactly does that mean?" Layla asked, hoping to distract him in case Bob was superstitious like Lakshmi Auntie. India had a billion-dollar superstition-centric industry focused on astrology, black magic, and fake babas. An unlucky name had derailed more than one prospective marriage. "Is it anything like being unable to contain your opinion about things no one asked you about?"
"I'm sure we can all guess what it means." Sam didn't address her sarcastic quip. "Layla used poor Qays for his magnificent body and then went prowling around for a new man only hours after leaving his bed. It caused quite the scandal in their conservative community. Qays was denied her hand in marriage and prevented from seeing her ever again, although why he would want her after that, I don't know. Distraught, he fled into the wilderness while chanting love poems about his darling Layla until he descended into madness and death.”
― Sara Desai, The Marriage Game

“Dill" tasted of fresh dill, a bright grassy entryway leading into a room where something faintly medicinal had recently been stored. This happy coincidence of meaning and flavor, however, didn't leave the word neutralized and without power. The word could still disrupt, dismay, or delight. In this instance, "Dill" was a promise ring. Inside its one syllable was a summer that would bring, along with the fireflies and the scuppernongs, a boy who would kiss me when my brother, Jem, wasn't looking.”
― Monique Truong, Bitter in the Mouth

“How are you with flowers?" Dominic asked without looking at Pet.
His sister's feet stopped shifting about.
"As a person landed with the name Petunia, I ought to have an affinity.”
― Lucy Parker, Battle Royal

“Ginny had named her supper club after the prominent mesquite tree that shaded the home's picturesque front garden. She adored these deciduous trees---native to Arizona---with their soft, ferny canopies that dotted the desert landscape. The species of velvet mesquite on her property routinely produced fragrant spikes of yellow flowers in April and sometimes again in August after it rained. The blossoms reminded Ginny of random bursts of sunshine. She hoped all who saw them took them as a good omen, just as she had upon discovering the house.”
― Nicole Meier, The Second Chance Supper Club

“So you see? The fairytale got it all wrong, it was not my grandmother who made me the cloak, but it was my mother and I’s own hands that wove together the seams that would forever erase my name from history. Instead, to be known forevermore as—Little Red Riding Hood.”
― Melanie Frome, Little Red & The Wolf: A Fairytale Unleashed

“The penthouse bar had an even more commanding view, and craft cocktails named after local or formerly local writers and their books--- the Anne Rice blood orange martini, the Tsukiyama Samurai, the Christopher Moore Demon, the Joy Luck Cocktail.”
― Susan Wiggs, The Lost and Found Bookshop

“I have trouble thinkin' o' ye as Bryson," she admitted apologetically. "Ye seem more a Conall to me."
"Why?" he asked with interest as he moved a pawn on the board.
"Weeell." She drew out the word and then pointed out, "Conall means strong wolf."
"And ye like wolves," he teased.
Claray glanced to where Lovey was asleep on the bed next to them with Squeak curled up on his back, and smiled faintly. "Aye. I do." Turning back to him, she admitted, "But ye also do seem strong to me. And as a mercenary ye were known as the Wolf. So, it just seems to suit.”
― Lynsay Sands, Highland Wolf

“And the thought of her garden---ballast and bread, those blooms and vines and spinney sprigs. Herbs that comforted, cured. Growing conditions had been ideal that summer. Resplendent. Delphinium spires soared their prettiest periwinkle blue; roses clambered over the arbor, luxuriant ivy slumped languidly like legions of lounging ladies. Myrtle gleamed so waxen Lavender almost saw a miniature of her face reflected back in its leaves. Ferns forested. Hollyhocks hollered their joy. Aromatic too, pears from her mother's tree. Even the moss spread ardent, brashly ambitious. The borage grew boisterous. And yarrow, always yarrow. And purple lavender, her namesake. Though some flower dictionaries ascribed a wary, ambiguous meaning to lavender, her mother long ago had asserted the contrary, that lavender equated calmness, serenity.”
― Jeanette Lynes, The Apothecary's Garden

“Biddy knew the trees as soon as Hutchincroft led her to them: three of them in a triangle, each slender and white-limbed, leaves turning golden brown and bristling with red berries. Rowan trees.”
― H.G. Parry, The Magician’s Daughter

“And, at that, picking up his parcel of books, Spider began to walk purposefully down the road, a river of light at his ragged heels, his spindly shadow beside him.”
― Joanne Harris, The Moonlight Market

“Now, what should we call ourselves?"
"Well, in the old language, mousa means a source of inspiration," Clio said. "Why don't we call ourselves the Muses?”
― Farrah Rochon, Bemused

“Roses?"
"It's corny, I know," Hart said. "But I thought maybe you'd like to see the Rose Garden."
There was a neat symmetry to this garden, with beds of roses squared off in every corner of the lawn, grouped according to color. Pastel pinks and yellows to one side and the more vibrant, deeper reds and fuchsias to another. Between each segment, taller roses draped over rounded pergolas, creating leafy tunnels. Everywhere she looked, shrubs spilled over messily, brazenly, with more roses than she'd ever seen before. Rose caressed the blooms, which seemed to reach for her touch as much as she reached for theirs. Some of the roses were delicate, with a single row of petals that came in a gradient of color, going from dusty pink at the center to neon magenta at the frilly tips. Others were so jammed with petals, the number of them seemed infinite.”
― Goldy Moldavsky, Of Earthly Delights

“Rose shook her head and dipped her brush into the Dusty Pink dollop on her palette, thinking it was so funny how heather the color was purple, but heather the plant was pink and yet looked remarkably like lavender, which was actually purple, and how beautiful the circle of life was. She slashed the canvas with bold pink strokes, making Heather look like a Renaissance painting of a romantic figure struck by arrows.”
― Goldy Moldavsky, Of Earthly Delights

“There is a touch of cumin to bring harmony to the floral chord, a carnal romance at the heart of the fragrance." Rapacine reached for Iris's arm and smelled the fragrance on her; a satisfied smile spreading on her face. "And at last, a sensual and animalic base: ambergris, salty and erotic; sandalwood, milky and sacred, and... I couldn't resist an iris note, but iris is a mute flower, the bloom will not give its scent---"
"That tracks, I'm a mute flower at work, too."
"No, you misunderstand. Live iris has a scent, but its scent is impossible to extract like other flowers. Iris guards its fragrance fiercely. What I used in the base is orris, a material that is made from the iris root, which takes years to mature, that is tender, powdery, and intimate. You are named for a rare and precious fragrance, one whose character is both ethereal and yet rooted in soft earth."
Iris was in awe.”
― Francesca Serritella, Full Bloom

“There was this time of morning that always gave me peace. I liked to call it the "Violet hour."
Not because it was my alone time, although it was, but because the light was the prettiest blue violet. It was the hour before the sun would rise, turning the pitch-black velvet night into the fresh blue brightness of day. It happened right before the world woke up and gave me the slice of the morning to really think, or pray, or problem-solve.”
― Victoria Benton Frank, The Violet Hour

“All her mugs looked alike-ish, but each person had their own color. Like us, all different, though we all went together somehow. Mine was obviously purple; Maggie's was dark olive green, similar to the leaves of her name flower; Gran's was rose red; and my mother's mug was white with silver sparkles.”
― Victoria Benton Frank, The Violet Hour

“You know what's crazy? Violets are sweet little flowers, but every woman named Violet that I've ever met has been tough as nails.”
― Victoria Benton Frank, The Violet Hour

“The moth specimen at the entrance to the library was a present from that man. He donated funds to all sorts of universities and foundations, and that included his research into insects, and he was asked to name a new species of moth.
My aunt's name is Koko Kobayashi. Koko is written with characters meaning child of the rainbow.”
― Hika Harada, Dinner at the Night Library