Liz

“She smiled, and as she hugged me, the scent of lavender intensified. It was intoxicating; it wrapped its long, soft arms around my head, and whispered tales in my ear. Tales of elegant women living in houses with large gardens where peacocks could wander. Tales of women who lived exactly as they wanted. Tales of women who did as they pleased. Tales of women who loved how and whom they wanted. Tales that could become reality.
Yes, the lavender smelled of freedom. At that moment I understood: this was what I wanted. To live as I pleased, not as I was supposed to.”
― Petra Pavlikova, In the Dark Corner, I Stood Alone

“There’s also some really solid kneading to be done here, which is the best cure for a troubled heart: hands in the dough, window wide, something jaunty on the radio.”
― Ella Risbridger, Midnight Chicken: & Other Recipes Worth Living For

“When I write, I am trying through the movement of my fingers to reach my head. I’m trying to build a word ladder up to my brain.”
― Heidi Julavits, The Folded Clock: A Diary

“Did she still miss me sometimes like I missed her—missing that had no electricity, no lightning, or thunder, a missing like a hand digging into an empty chip bag searching for crumbs, any last salty bit, a missing more like mourning.”
― Jean Kyoung Frazier, Pizza Girl