Morgue

“She walks into my life legs first, a long drink of water in the desert of my thirties. Her shoes are red; her eyes are green. She's an Italian flag in occupied territory, and I fall for her like Paris. She mixes my metaphors like a martini and serves up my heart tartare. They all do. Every time. They have to. It's that kind of story.”
― Catherynne M. Valente, The Bread We Eat in Dreams

“Trouble is, most times, when you go looking to sell your soul, nobody's buying.”
― Catherynne M. Valente, Radiance

“It tasted like a shade of white near blue; it tasted like the idea of pearls; it tasted like a memory nearly grasped but lost at the last moment.”
― Catherynne M. Valente, Radiance

“I said: I could be a wolf for you. I could put my teeth on your throat. I could growl. I could eat you whole. I could wait for you in the dark. I could howl against your hair.”
― Catherynne M. Valente, The Bread We Eat in Dreams