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“Unable to see or speak like the blue day sky, the night had its own language. The stars. Thicket could start to see them twinkle and wink, a secret, a whisper, a laugh. She wondered what they told Elian, or perhaps what he read in them.”
― Isabella Stofka, Curses of Lavender

“Take a newspaper.
Take some scissors.
Choose from this paper an article of the length you want to make your poem.
Cut out the article.
Next carefully cut out each of the words that makes up this article and put them all in a bag.
Shake gently.
Next take out each cutting one after the other.
Copy conscientiously in the order in which they left the bag.
The poem will resemble you.
And there you are -- an infinitely original author of charming sensibility, even though unappreciated by the vulgar herd.”
― Tristan Tzara, Seven Dada Manifestos and Lampisteries

“Why should the injured, the still bleeding, bear the onus of forgiveness?”
― Delia Owens, Where the Crawdads Sing

“Sometimes, one had to sample the bad to finally stray from it”
― Isabella Stofka, Curses of Lavender