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“Why do we romanticize the dead? Why can't we be honest about them? Especially moms. They're the most romanticized of anyone.

Moms are saints, angels by merely existing. NO ONE could possibly understand what it's like to be a mom. Men will never understand. Women with no children will never understand. No one buts moms know the hardship of motherhood, and we non-moms must heap nothing but praise upon moms because we lowly, pitiful non-moms are mere peasants compared to the goddesses we call mothers.”
― Jennette McCurdy, I'm Glad My Mom Died

“Sometimes it feels like I didn't even exist before that. Like you invented me.”
― Emily Henry, People We Meet on Vacation

“Help out? What is it with you and ‘helping out?’ You’re going to ‘help out’ with chores. ‘Help out’ with raising our baby. ‘Help out’ with finding me a new job. Isn’t this your house, too? Your home? Your child? And if I work, don’t you spend my pay, too? Why do you keep saying ‘help out’ like you’re volunteering to pitch in on someone else’s work?”
― Cho Nam-Joo, Kim Jiyoung, Born 1982

“And look at you now! I can see how much you hate me . . .”
“You’re wrong,” Alex said. “You’re nothing to me.”
The rain was a mask, hiding his face. His eyes were dark and empty. In his sodden clothes, he was almost a skeleton of himself. He turned and began to walk away.
That was when Julius went for the gun, his hand scrabbling through the wet grass. He lifted it and aimed.
Alex heard him. Some tiny movement. Some instinct. He spun around.
Julius fired a single shot.
But Alex fired first.”
― Anthony Horowitz, Scorpia Rising