Sophia

“Religious fervor whipped the churches into a frenzy, and I often heard people talking in hushed whispers about the end of days when I slipped into the chapel to pray in the evening. My piety was a sporadic, haalf-feral thing, sometimes lashing out at God with teeth baed, other times nuzzling against His loving providence like a kitten, but prayer steadied me. Whether I was talking to myself or something more, it brought me peace. The world we had all known, it seemed, was drawing to a close.”
― S.T. Gibson

“You can take away my EKTORP and my MALM, but you can't take away my VITTSJÖ,' Dominic says, wrapping a protective arm around the bookshelf in his living room.”
― Rachel Lynn Solomon, The Ex Talk

“Now, lying on my back in bed, I imagined Buddy saying, 'Do you know what a poem is, Esther?' 'No, what?' I would say. 'A piece of dust.' Then just as he was smiling and starting to look proud, I would say, 'So are the cadavers you cut up. So are the people you think you're curing. They're dust as dust as dust. I reckon a good poem lasts a whole lot longer than a hundred of those people put together.”
― Sylvia Plath

“War is the whetstone that grinds down all sense, all humanity.”
― S.T. Gibson, A Dowry of Blood