katabaza

“What we mean to say, but what Ms Spider is not equipped to understand, is that Iago is gay in the way that all the best fictional murderers are gay. Norman Bates, Tom Ripely, The titular Third Man, and he was the original. Iago is gay like a black leather whip. Like Paris in the 1920s. Like calling non-food things “delicious.” Iago is gay like cold eyes and bony hips. Like a pearl-handled pistol tucked in one’s suit pocket. Like delicate fingers that could play a Chopin prelude or crush a throat with equal grace. Iago is gay in the way that we, the F&M unit, aspired to be gay. But it’s harder for girls.”
― James Frankie Thomas, Idlewild

“Benji is running alone in another part of the forest. He finds new hiding places; he’s had a lot of practice over the years. He’s become a man who doesn’t take anything for granted; only children think certain things are self-evident: always having a best friend, for instance. Being allowed to be who we are. Being able to love who we want. Nothing is self-evident to Benji anymore; he just runs deeper into the forest until his brain is gasping for oxygen and he can no longer feel anything. Then he climbs up into a tree. And waits for the wind.”
― Fredrik Backman, Us Against You

“For some, autumn comes early, stays late through life where October follows September and November touches October and then instead of December and Christ's birth, there is no Bethlehem Star, no rejoicing, but September comes again and old October and so on down the years, with no winter, spring, or revivifying summer. For these beings, fall is the ever normal season, the only weather, there be no choice beyond. Where do they come from? The dust. Where do they go? The grave. Does blood stir their veins? No: the night wind. What ticks in their head? The worm. What speaks from their mouth? The toad. What sees from their eye? The snake. What hears with their ear? The abyss between the stars. They sift the human storm for souls, eat flesh of reason, fill tombs with sinners. They frenzy forth. In gusts they beetle-scurry, creep, thread, filter, motion, make all moons sullen, and surely cloud all clear-run waters. The spider-web hears them, trembles—breaks. Such are the autumn people. Beware of them.”
― Ray Bradbury, Something Wicked This Way Comes

“You will never find me in trouble. You will find me in the library. If you can remember where that is.”
― Sarah Rees Brennan, In Other Lands