Sara cunningham

“She took refuge in her newborn son. she had felt him leave her body with a sensation of relief at freeing herself from something that did not belong to her and she had been horrified at herself when she confirmed that she did not feel the slightest affection for that calf from her womb the midwife showed her in the raw, smeared with grease and blood and with the umbilical cord rolled around his neck. But in her lonliness in the palace she learned to know him, they learned to know each other, and she discovered with great delight that one does not love one's children just because they are one's children but becuase of the friendship formed while raising them.”
― Gabriel García Márquez, Love in the Time of Cholera

“Dreamt I stood in a china shop so crowded from floor to far-off ceiling with shelves of porcelain antiques, etc. that moving a muscle would cause several to fall and smash to bits. Exactly what happened but instead of a crashing noise, an august chord rang out, half cello, half celeste, D major (?), held for four beats. My wrist knocked a Ming vase affair off its pedestal-E flat. Whole string section, glorious, transcendant, angels wept. Deliberately now, smashed a figurine of an ox for the next note, then a milkmaid, then Saturday's Child-orgy of shrapnel filled the air, divine harmonies my head.”
― David Mitchell, Cloud Atlas

“Beauty is a whore. I prefer money.”
― Michael Cunningham, The Hours

“When I started typing her bathroom iniative for the newsletter, typing words like disease and protect yourself and you're welcome! it was like something cracked open inside of me, not unlike a watermelon, cool and soothing sweet. I always thought insanity would be a dark and bitter feeling, but it is drenching and delicious if you really roll around in it.”
― Kathryn Stockett, The Help