Rachel

“- Okay, you can be my slave.
My flying kick nicks his nose.
A warning. Worse if I weren't
succumbing to squeal.
What a heel.
I'm too multiple to feel.
A fork ahead.
I take both.”
― Mark Z. Danielewski, Only Revolutions

“I killed my ex lovers
and buried to my memories' grave.
It is January
And I am tired of being brave.”
― Arzum Uzun

“The house was very quiet, and the fog—we are in November now—pressed against the windows like an excluded ghost.”
― E.M. Forster, Howards End

“Caught in the doldrums of August we may have regretted the departing summer, having sighed over the vanished strawberries and all that they signified. Now, however, we look forward almost eagerly to winter's approach. We forget the fogs, the slush, the sore throats an the price of coal, we think only of long evenings by lamplight, of the books which we are really going to read this time, of the bright shop windows and the keen edge of the early frosts.”
― Denis Mackail, Greenery Street