Sydney Speer

“I relented and then went to the show where the black-and-white images of sixteen women had each been blown up to twelve feet to line a giant room in the art gallery. we had been sliced into threes: our heads near the ceiling, our breasts and torsos in the center and at eye level, our vaginas.”
― Emily Ratajkowski, My Body

“Was that what it meant to be a daughter? To have hair that smelled of your mother? To use the same soap? Or was it a shared passion, a shared frustration? Meg had never wanted to kneel in the dirt and plant bulbs like her mum; she longed to be considered - not with kindness, but with curiosity, with regard for her thoughts, with respect for her words. Was that what the mess on the floor was? Evidence of a curious mind? Fragments of frustration? An effort to understand and explain? Were Meg’s longings akin to Esme and was that what it meant to be a daughter?”
― Pip Williams, The Dictionary of Lost Words

“I was a child, but somehow already an expert in detecting male desire, even if I didn't completely understand what to make of it: Was it a good thing? Something to be afraid of? Something to be ashamed of? It seemed to be all these things at once.”
― Emily Ratajkowski, My Body

“Mungo’s capacity for love frustrated her. His loving wasn’t selflessness; he simply could not help it. Mo-Maw needed so little and he produced so much. So that it all seemed a horrible waste. It was a harvest no one seeded, and it blossomed from a vine no one tended.”
― Douglas Stuart, Unge Mungo