Nancy Yager

“We were told what to want: Propaganda was universal. Especially in this country, where the propaganda was that there was none - we were free. But were we? When we were made to value certain lives more than others; when we were made, relentlessly, to want more? What if I had seen through it? What if I had understood that I already had enough?”
― Rachel Khong, Real Americans

“Cuando amas a alguien, se convierte en una parte de ti. Está en todo lo que haces. Está en el aire que respiras, en el agua que bebes; su voz permanece en tus oídos y sus ideas en tu cabeza. conoces sus sueños porque sus pesadillas se clavan en tu corazón, y sus sueños bueno son también los tuyos. Y no crees que es perfecto, sino que conoces sis defectos, la autentica verdad de sus defectos y la sombra de todos sus secretos, y eso no te hace alejarte; de hecho, lo amas más por eso, porque no quieres que sea perfecto. Tu quieres a ese alguien. Quieres..." Julian Blackthorn”
― Cassandra Clare, Lady Midnight

“And now from the distance of time when stories are over one in a frame on a dresser one left to remember you left with nowhere to leave to a world where nothing can vanish can vanish from inside the trees or above them the moon blameless as I was as you were call it weather call it something that lives outside measure a lifetime apart a lifetime together are neither forever nor never a lifetime together a lifetime apart one person turns into another forgive past forgive future departure a story continues beyond its erasure we were two oars dividing one water and time cannot sever”
― Kristie Frederick Daugherty, Invisible Strings: 113 Poets Respond to the Songs of Taylor Swift

“When the first wave arrived, barely touching her toes, it was so light and translucent a ripple that you might be forgiven for thinking it insignificant, that it would vanish soon, leaving no trace. But then followed another wave, and the next one, rising as far as her ankles, and the one after that covering her knees, and before you knew it she was immersed in liquid pain, up to her neck, drowning.”
― Elif Shafak, The Island of Missing Trees