Cendaquenta

“Her mind--brilliant, traitorous, prone to devouring itself--did not stop fretting, but at least she was in control again. It was odd, to think of one's own mind as the enemy. It wasn't always.”
― Seanan McGuire, Come Tumbling Down

“But you can't ever imagine what you're going to care about when you turn into the version of you that’s waiting on the other side of five years from now. That’s a stranger waiting to ambush you, and all you can do is plant your feet and try not to get thrown.”
― Catherynne M. Valente, The Past Is Red

“You’re a cynical kid,” said Trebastion.

“You make harps out of dead people,” said Oliver.

“Yes, but I haven’t allowed it to taint my basic optimism.”
― T. Kingfisher, Minor Mage

“Glenskehy is outside Dublin, tucked away in the Wicklow mountains near nothing very much. I'd lived half my life in Wicklow without getting any closer to it than the odd signpost. It turned out to be that kind of place: a scatter of houses getting old around a once-a-month church and a pub and a sell-everything shop, small and isolated enough to have been overlooked even by the desperate generation trawling the countryside for homes they can afford. Eight o'clock on a Thursday morning, and the main street - to use both words loosely - was postcard-perfect and empty, just one old woman pulling a shopping trolley past a worn granite monument to something or other, little sugared-almond houses lined up crookedly behind her, and the hills rising green and brown and indifferent over it all. I could imagine someone getting killed there, but a farmer in a generations-old fight over a boundary fence, a woman whose man had turned savage with drink and cabin fever, a man sharing a house with his brother forty years too long: deep-rooted, familiar crimes old as Ireland, nothing to make a detective as experienced as Sam sound like that.”
― Tana French, The Likeness