Stephanie

“He was beautiful, that was always affirmed, but his beauty was hard to fix or to see, for he was always glimmering, flickering, melting, mixing, he was the shape of a shapeless flame, he was the eddying thread of needle-shapes in the shapeless mass of the waterfall. He was the invisible wind that hurried the clouds in billows and ribbons. You could see a bare tree on the skyline bent by the wind, holding up twisted branches and bent twigs, and suddenly its formless form would resolve itself into that of the trickster.”
― A. S. Byatt, Ragnarok: The End of the Gods

“We were nostalgic for a time that wasn't yet over.”
― Nina LaCour, We Are Okay

“In the darkness, two shadows, reaching through the hopeless, heavy dusk. Their hands meet, and light spills in a flood like a hundred golden urns pouring out of the sun.”
― Madeline Miller, The Song of Achilles

“Let me tell you a story about love:



There was a place on the floor where they could lie together, on the floor together, backs pressed to

the carpet, where they could look out the window together and see only the tops of the trees. They

would do this. They would lie on the floor and say things like Now we are in the country! or Oh, what a far

away place this is! Then they would stand up and look out the window the way they usually did, the

houses reappearing in the window frame.



She had a soft voice and strong hands. When she sang she would seem too large for the room and

she would play guitar and sing which would make his chest feel huge. Sometimes he would touch her

knee and smile. Sometimes she would touch his face and close her eyes.”
― Richard Siken, War of the Foxes