Hajra

“We don’t even ask happiness, just a little less pain.”
― Charles Bukowski

“I saw a stony mask come upon her lined face as she slew the weak houswife she had been and gave birth to the warrior that is buried inside every woman's heart,one who is unleased when her children's lives are at stake.”
― Kamran Pasha, Mother of the Believers

“A reader lives a thousand lives before he dies, said Jojen. The man who never reads lives only one.”
― George R.R. Martin, A Dance with Dragons

“Abigail,’ he says. ‘I thought it was you.’
‘Hi!’ I say loudly. ‘Mark!’
‘Who?’ says Robert. Fuck, he doesn’t know his real name. Why do I give everyone stupid nicknames?
‘I almost don’t recognise you out of your SKINNY JEANS,’ I enunciate carefully. He’s wearing grey flannel trousers and a pink T-Shirt with leather Converses. He speaks clothes exceptionally confidently for a straight man. I wonder if he’d take me shopping.
‘Oh, right. Got it.’
‘That’s odd,’ says Skinny Jeans. ‘Since I was wearing nothing at all when you left my room without saying goodbye . . . let’s see, seven weeks ago?’
‘Um, yes. Well, you know . . .’ I trail off. Come on, Robert, I think desperately.
‘I’m sorry, were you planning on making me breakfast in bed?’ says Robert. Yes! Make a joke!
‘I’m sorry, were you planning on making me breakfast in bed?’ I say.
Skinny Jeans grins.
‘Scrambled eggs? Toast? On a little tray?’
‘Scrambled eggs? Toast? On a little tray with a rose on it?’ I say.
‘Don’t fuck with my script,’ says Robert, which makes me grin slightly more broadly”
― Gemma Burgess