She’d hated this email because it hadn’t answered her question, because the rep had mixed metaphors, because the punctuation was chaotic, and because workhorse was one word.
“This was the thing about being an ex-Christian: like that, your life expectancy went from eternity to seventy-odd years. A death sentence on you and on those you loved. He tried not to think about it; he thought about it all the time.”
― Kink: Stories
― Kink: Stories
“Trauma is like a gift. The shittiest fucking gift in the world. Coal in your motherfucking stocking. But the minute you receive it, it becomes yours. And it’s your responsibility what you do with it. And you can use it as an excuse to destroy your life and destroy the lives of people around you, but you shouldn’t.”
― Yes, Daddy
― Yes, Daddy
“It was actually more like this: Nina would get up and her head would hurt because she drank wine that was at least 30 percent sulfites or whatever it is that causes headaches. Her mouth would feel like the inside of one of those single socks you see on the street sometimes, and her hair would be depressed. She would stand slightly crouched by the coffee maker and shiver until the coffee was done. Sometimes her glassy eyes would rest on her visualization corner and she would resent the steady way the planet whirled around the sun without consulting her at all. Day after day, night after night, rinse and repeat. Basically, until the first slug of caffeine hit her system, she was essentially in suspended animation, and she’d been known to drool.”
― The Bookish Life of Nina Hill
― The Bookish Life of Nina Hill
“began to wonder if my panic attacks were, in fact, the side effects of exorcism, Satan’s desperate claws around my rib cage. I wanted to die. The irony haunts me to this day: my father’s love, the very force that should’ve saved our family, was ultimately the thing to destroy it.”
― Yes, Daddy
― Yes, Daddy
“How many head do they have to kill each month so he can pay for his father’s nursing home? How many humans do they have to slaughter for him to forget how he laid Leo down in his cot, tucked him in, sang him a lullaby, and the next day saw he had died in his sleep? How many hearts need to be stored in boxes for the pain to be transformed into something else? But the pain, he intuits, is the only thing that keeps him breathing. Without the sadness, he has nothing left.”
― Tender Is the Flesh
― Tender Is the Flesh
Ben's Cozy Book Club
— 91 members
— last activity May 11, 2025 02:30PM
Cozy reads with Ben! Each month will have a different genre or theme for the month and voting will take place the last week of each month. This is a r ...more
Emily’s 2025 Year in Books
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