Abra

“Something akin to pride kreeps into his voice, but it's a hollow sort of pride. It's the pride of someone who's rarely proud of anything. It's the type of pride that can be knocked over with a feather, and so it rarely gets to shine in the face of the world.
The little Black kid flashes those impossibly white teeth at me and he laughs and then he covers his smile and quells the laughter [...], and I know that he's spent his entire life being afraid to be happy.”
― Jason Mott, Hell of a Book

“[...] fun for me was sneaking off to peer into a tidal pool, to grasp the intricacies of the creatures that lived there. Sustenance for me was tied to ecosystem and habitat, orgasm the sudden realization of the interconnectivity of living things. Observation had always meant more to me than interaction. He knew all of this, I think. But I never could express myself that well to him, although I did try, and he did listen. And yet, I was nothing but expression in other ways. My sole gift or talent, I believe now, was that places could impress themselves upon me, and I could become a part of them with ease. Even a bar was a type of ecosystem, if a crude one, and to someone entering, someone without my husband’s agenda, that person could have seen me sitting there and had no trouble imagining that I was happy in my little bubble of silence. Would have had no trouble believing I fit in [...]”
― Jeff VanderMeer

“Shade for a man
And shelter for animals,
Planted in your name,
May you be the same for those around you,
Every year the same.”
― Nancy J. Cavanaugh, This Journal Belongs to Ratchet

“He hates that he can fold himself up so tightly in his own skin that there's nothing real about him on the outside.”
― Holly Black, The Prisoner’s Throne