Naoise

“I am sorry. I can not invite you home for Christmas because I am Irish and my family is mad”
― Anne Enright, The Green Road

“Marcus couldn't believe it. Dead. A dead duck. OK, he'd been trying to hit it on the head with a piece of sandwich, but he tried to do all sorts of things, and none of them had ever happened before. He'd tried to get the highest score on the Stargazer machine in the kabab shop on Hornsey road - nothing. He'd tried to read Nicky's thoughts by staring at the back of his head every maths lesson for a week - nothing. It really annoyed him that the only thing he'd ever achieved through trying was something he hadn't really wanted to do that much in the first place. And anyway, since when did hitting a bird with a sandwich ever kill it? People spend half their lives throwing things at the ducks in Regent's Park. How come he managed to pick a duck that pathetic?”
― Nick Hornby, About a Boy

“Gingee, Gingee, it's meeeeeeeeeeee!!!'
I could hear her panting up the stairs to my room. She kicked open my bedroom door and ran from the door and leapt onto the bed, covering me with kisses.
'I LOBE you, my big big sister.'
I couldn't get her off me.
'Libby, just let me...'
'Kissy kissy kiss, snoggy snog.'
'That's enough, now let me...'
'Mmmmmm, groovy baby.'
What is she talking about? She is supposed to be in kindergarten to learn how to grow up, not turn into an even madder person.
Then she stood up on the bed and starting thrusting her hips out and singing her favorite:
'Sex bum sex bum I am a sex bum.'
Quite spectacularly mad.”
― Louise Rennison, Then He Ate My Boy Entrancers

“And that's the last oath I shall ever be able to swear," she thought; "once I set foot on English soil. And I shall never be able to crack a man over the head, or tell him he lies in his teeth, or draw my sword and run him through the body, or sit among my peers, or wear a coronet, or walk in procession, or sentence a man to death, or lead an army, or prance down Whitehall on a charger, or wear seventy-two different medals on my breast. All I can do, once I set foot on English soil, is to pour out tea and ask my lords how they like it. D'you take sugar? D'you take cream?" And mincing out the words, she was horrified to perceive how low an opinion she was forming of the other sex, the manly, to which it had once been her pride to belong.”
― Virginia Woolf