Andrea

“During her life, their mom had been like a folded paper fan to them, and they were slowly starting to unfurl her, fold by fold, to see the delicate, ornate pattern painted on her skin. It was hard to let that go, to simply snap the fan shut once she knew what fascinating complexities were inside.”
― Andrea Lochen, Versions of Her

“This [oatmeal] represents your soul in its pure state. Your soul on the day you were born. You were perfect. You were happy. You were good.
Now, enter Concept Number Two: crap. Don't worry, folks. I don't use actual crap up here. Only imaginary crap. You'll have to supply the crap, using your mind. Now, if someone came up and crapped in your nice warm oatmeal, what would you say? Would you say: 'Wow, super, thanks, please continue crapping in my oatmeal'? Am I being silly? I'm being a little silly. But guess what, in real life people come up and crap in your oatmeal all the time--friends, co-workers, loved ones, even you kids, especially your kids!--and that's exactly what you do. You say, 'Thanks so much!' You say, 'Crap away!' You say, and here the metaphor breaks down a bit, 'Is there some way I can help you crap in my oatmeal?”
― George Saunders

“Not only was [her dog] a good companion, he was also like a permission slip to be more present in the world.”
― Andrea Lochen, Versions of Her

“No one else in the world could strike a nerve in [her] quite like her sister.”
― Andrea Lochen, Versions of Her