Natalie Corbett

“It was something central which permeated; something warm which broke up surfaces and rippled the cold contact of man and woman, or of women together. For that she could dimly perceive. She resented it, had a scruple picked up Heaven knows where, or, as she felt, sent by Nature (who is invariably wise); yet she could not resist sometimes yielding to the charm of a woman, not a girl, of a woman confessing, as to her they often did, some scrape, some folly. And whether it was pity, or their beauty, or that she was older, or some accident—like a faint scent, or a violin next door (so strange is the power of sounds at certain moments), she did undoubtedly then feel what men felt.”
― Virginia Woolf, Mrs. Dalloway: The Virginia Woolf Library Authorized Edition

“It’s funny,” Mark said darkly. “My coworkers’ wives produce healthy meals without a service.”
― Cara Reinard, Into the Sound

“Only for a moment; but it was enough. It was a sudden revelation, a tinge like a blush which one tried to check and then, as it spread, one yielded to its expansion, and rushed to the farthest verge and there quivered and felt the world come closer, swollen with some astonishing significance, some pressure of rapture, which split its thin skin and gushed and poured with an extraordinary alleviation over the cracks and sores! Then, for that moment, she had seen an illumination; a match burning in a crocus; an inner meaning almost expressed. But the close withdrew; the hard softened. It was over—the moment. Against such moments (with women too)”
― Virginia Woolf, Mrs. Dalloway: The Virginia Woolf Library Authorized Edition

“She could not let them find Vivian’s flirty conversations. Her sister would be deemed a cheating wife who’d run off. They wouldn’t believe she was in trouble, and they wouldn’t move mountains to find her. Without thinking twice, she hurried back to the computer, quickly unchecked the “Save Password” button, and logged out of Vivian’s Gmail account so strangers, including the cops, couldn’t access her account from the library.”
― Cara Reinard, Into the Sound