sammy

“Happiness was like a green vine spreading through her, stretching fine tendrils, bearing flowers through her flesh.”
― Patricia Highsmith, The Price of Salt

“January. It was all things. And it was one thing, like a solid door. Its cold sealed the city in a gray capsule. January was moments, and January was a year. January rained the moments down, and froze them in her memory: [...]Every human action seemed to yield a magic. January was a two-faced month, jangling like jester's bells, crackling like snow crust, pure as any beginning, grim as an old man, mysteriously familiar yet unknown, like a word one can almost but not quite define.”
― Patricia Highsmith, The Price of Salt

“The night was a time for bestial affinities, for drawing closer to oneself.”
― Patricia Highsmith, Strangers on a Train

“The world was to me a secret which I desired to devine.”
― Mary Shelley, Frankenstein