Sammy Lockrem

“Thought—to call it by a prouder name than it deserved—had let its line down into the stream. It swayed, minute after minute, hither and thither among the reflections and the weeds, letting the water lift it and sink it until—you know the little tug—the sudden conglomeration of an idea at the end of one’s line: and then the cautious hauling of it in, and the careful laying of it out? Alas, laid on the grass how small, how insignificant this thought of mine looked; the sort of fish that a good fisherman puts back into the water so that it may grow fatter and be one day worth cooking and eating. I will not trouble you with that thought now, though if you look carefully you may find it for yourselves in the course of what I am going to say. But however small it was, it had, nevertheless, the mysterious property of its kind—put back into the mind, it became at once very exciting, and important; and as it darted and sank, and flashed hither and thither, set up such a wash and tumult of ideas that it was impossible to sit still.”
― Virginia Woolf, A Room of One's Own

“As for adults, the more we grow, the more we seem to hide ourselves, our emotions—and it’s considered an act of maturity. Seems to me it’s more of an act of cowardice. The truly brave are those who can love and live with the fearless heart of a child.”
― Kate Stewart, The Plight Before Christmas

“Rob lifts a brow at me in a what the fuck sort of way. And I shake my head in a these two are fucking weird way.”
― S.J. Tilly, Dom

“The fading scent of roses would make me brace. Make me hyperaware of her comings and goings. Make me try harder to be less of a burden so maybe she wouldn’t feel the need to put me down again and go. Do well in school. Do my own laundry. Make my own food. Don’t ask for anything. Don’t need anything. Clean up after myself. Then after her. Be helpful. Be invisible. Be small.”
― Abby Jimenez, Just for the Summer