Ashley Crenshaw

“She clenches her eyelids and presses her fists into her temples, as if to physically crush this false conviction that Neil is in some way realer than everyone else, that he is somehow the axis of her life and the only one who can “save” her and his opinion of her constitutes her entire worth, having
staked exclusive mining rights to her happiness, because of the irreplicable
circumstances of how they knew each other, when at the bottommost level of truth she knows he’s just . . . another . . . fucking . . . guy.”
― Tony Tulathimutte, Rejection

“To her, love was impure. I, on the other hand, have had so little love that it seems to me like a delicate jewel, and I’m terrified of losing it. My fear is not just that I’ll misplace it, like an earring on a night of sex or sweaty dancing, it’s that it will evaporate and vanish like alcohol. I”
― Mariana Enríquez, Our Share of Night

“Nothing can hurt you now, how long was now, how long did the present last?”
― Mariana Enríquez, Our Share of Night

“Good Stab fell to his knees, pressed his forehead to the floor and he screamed too, and I daresay our screams harmonized, at least in how much they pained us.

This, I believe, is the story of America, told in a forgotten church in the hinterlands, with a choir of the dead mutely witnessing.”
― Stephen Graham Jones, The Buffalo Hunter Hunter