Stefanie

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Willa Cather
“That is happiness; to be dissolved into something complete and great. When it comes to one, it comes as naturally as sleep.”
Willa Cather, My Ántonia

William Makepeace Thackeray
“Very likely Miss Binny was right to a great extent. It is the pretty face which creates sympathy in the hearts of men, those wicked rogues. A woman may possess the wisdom and chastity of Minerva, and we give no heed to her, if she has a plain face. What folly will not a pair of bright eyes make pardonable? What dulness may not red lips and sweet accents render pleasant? And so, with their usual sense of justice, ladies argue that because a woman is handsome, therefore she is a fool. Oh, ladies, ladies! some there are of you who are neither handsome nor wise.”
William Makepeace Thackeray, Vanity Fair

Emily St. John Mandel
“I've been thinking lately about immortality. What it means to be remembered, what I want to be remembered for, certain questions concerning memory and fame. I love watching old movies. I watch the faces of long-dead actors on the screen, and I think about how they'll never truly die. I know that's a cliché but it happens to be true. Not just the famous ones who everyone knows, the Clark Gables, the Ava Gardners, but the bit players, the maid carrying the tray, the butler, the cowboys in the bar, the third girl from the left in the nightclub. They're all immortal to me. First we only want to be seen, but once we're seen, that's not enough anymore. After that, we want to be remembered.”
Emily St. John Mandel, Station Eleven

Joan Didion
“We closed the deal and moved to New York.
Where in fact I had lived before, from the time I was twenty-one and just out of the English Department at Berkeley and starting work at Vogue (a segue so profoundly unnatural that when I was asked by the Condé Nast personnel department to name the languages in which I was fluent I could think only of Middle English) until I was twenty-nine and just married.”
Joan Didion, Blue Nights

Joyce Carol Oates
“The strangeness of Time. Not in its passing, which can seem infinite, like a tunnel whose end you can't see, whose beginning you've forgotten, but in the sudden realization that something finite, has passed, and is irretrievable.”
Joyce Carol Oates, Foxfire: Confessions Of A Girl Gang

year in books
Meryl
1,122 books | 52 friends

Kendra ...
319 books | 57 friends

Shana
1,149 books | 92 friends

Rachel
2,806 books | 163 friends

Madeleine
2,236 books | 51 friends

Seán O'...
34 books | 68 friends

Joanna
209 books | 126 friends

Jason K...
343 books | 55 friends

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Emma by Jane Austen
Women in White
491 books — 106 voters

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