Mariana

“A avó, já velhíssima então, proporcionava-lhe um assombro inquieto, pois, perdendo o equilíbrio das suas faculdades, parecia que se desumanizava. Falava muito, sempre coisas da sua juventude, e não compreendia que o marido tivesse morrido. “Quando o teu pai vier...” — dizia a Quina. Ou: “Prepara-lhe aí um bocado de vinho quente, para que o tome quando chegar.” E Quina respondia, invariavelmente e com modo cheio de doçura. “Sim, minha mãe. Já vou, senhora.” Nestes momentos, Germa cravava nas duas os olhos atemorizados e duvidosos; era como se o espaço extensíssimo duma época que não vivera se lhe colocasse diante, sem que ela deixasse de sentir-se expulsa, mais do que distante, desse tempo morto, porém inesgotável.”
― Agustina Bessa-Luís, A Sibila

“O for the night that was ending, for the sleep and the wakefulness, the toughness and tenderness mixed, the sweet temper, the safety in darkness. Would such a night ever return?”
― E M Forster, Maurice

“Boys are just boys after all, but sometimes girls really seem to be the turn of a pale wrist, or the sudden jut of a hip, or a clutch of very dark hair falling across a freckled forehead. I'm not saying that's what they really are. I'm just saying sometimes it seems that way, and that those details (a thigh mole, a full face flush, a scar the precise shape and size of a cashew nut) are so many hooks waiting to land you.”
― Zadie Smith

“How was it possible to be afraid and in love... The two things did not go together. How was it possible to be afraid, when the two of them grew stronger together every day? And every night. Every night was different, and every morning. Together they possessed a miracle.”
― Patricia Highsmith, The Price of Salt