Andrea Wolfe

“A goodbye at the gate," said Hobie. He seemed to be talking partly to himself. "That's what he would have wanted. The parting glimpse, the death haiku - he wouldn't have liked to leave without stopping to speak to someone along the way. 'A teahouse amid the cherry blossoms on the way to death.”
― Donna Tartt, The Goldfinch

“Hatred. Some people get filled with it and explode. If they survive, they move on. Others just let it dribble out over the years, like a leaky bucket. One day they notice the bucket is empty, and they wonder what had been in it in the first place. Still others use hatred as a weapon, going so far as to pass it on to others—an ugly, unwanted gift disguised as a virtuous heirloom.”
― Michael J. Sullivan, Age of Swords

“That's the thing about hatred, it can become rancid, and it'll turn into poison if you keep it bottled too long. Hatred will eat through any container and seep into the groundwater of a soul. Revenge is never enough to expel it because it keeps bubbling up anew. What you don't realize–can't really–is that by that time, it's all you are. You don't have the hate in you. The hate is you. When that wine is consumed, you won't ever be able to rid yourself of it. Can't vomit it up or spit it out. It'd be as impossible as escaping yourself.”
― Michael J. Sullivan, Age of Swords

“The painting was food. He wanted to caress it, hold it in his hands, lick its glazed surface, plunge into it, dive into the Florentine light. Years vanished, decades were erased, and he was again the boy who had come here to the feast of art.”
― Pete Hamill, North River