Jasmine

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Alice Chen's Real...
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by Kara Loo (Goodreads Author)
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read in December 2025
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Dec 28, 2025 06:54PM

 
Our Vicious Oaths
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by N.E. Davenport (Goodreads Author)
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Dec 23, 2025 04:22PM

 
Every Day I Read:...
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Dec 23, 2025 03:23PM

 
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bell hooks
“All too often women believe it is a sign of commitment, an expression of love, to endure unkindness or cruelty, to forgive and forget. In actuality, when we love rightly we know that the healthy, loving response to cruelty and abuse is putting ourselves out of harm's way.”
Bell Hooks, All About Love: New Visions

Leigh Bardugo
“No Mourners.
No Funerals.”
Leigh Bardugo, Six of Crows

Leigh Bardugo
“The water hears and understands. The ice does not forgive.”
Leigh Bardugo, Six of Crows

Leigh Bardugo
“Many boys will bring you flowers. But someday you'll meet a boy who will learn your favorite flower, your favorite song, your favorite sweet. And even if he is too poor to give you any of them, it won't matter because he will have taken the time to know you as no one else does. Only that boy earns your heart.”
Leigh Bardugo, Six of Crows

Sylvia Plath
“I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn't quite make out. I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.”
Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar

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